by Samuel De Lemos
Feeling unpoetic today—
June seventh twenty sixteen.
I’ve been contemplating
I don’t know.
I can describe my room:
Wide arch into the bath
nicely shadowed white.
Fan above swirling at a
The TV’s on but I’m not watching.
Purely background noise.
I’m lying on my bed with legs lazily spread.
My door is open while the light gently slips in.
I can feel the warmth of summer seep in through my window shutters like a thin veil; pushed aside by the
cool breeze of the air conditioner kissing my face.