Our midnight conversations over mulled wine
transformed into afternoon espionages,
armed with nothing but cold sandwiches – people watching.
Our three PM classes on igneous rocks
maneuvered into six AM walks by the broad,
skipping pebbles from the trail;
as the morning sun varnishes elm branches vermillion.
Then came the rain.
Trickling softly; its rhythm startling a tawny squirrel,
who lumbers back into her tree.
We sprinted under a canopy,
hurriedly finding shelter,
as dampness spread on our shirts,
like red tints on ripening apricots.
Down here – days away from history
and free pizza stands –
we watch the road disappear into the ferns.
When we broke into vulnerable conversations
I felt my walls crumble down.
As we sit on the side of the buildings
and stand stark against the universe,
It may just be freshers,
but believe me when I say,
I didn’t believe in miracles before I met you.
I didn’t know I could heal,
Before you waved,“Hello.”