I had been talking to my friend T-money about this poem, before it was even written. I haven't had much time to write now that the semester has really begun, but I had this poem, mostly formed, just sitting in my mind.
Brand new, hot off the metaphorical press (because I haven't got a printing press in my room. That's just a pipe dream):
Ontario Lake
Tuesday was humid
the kind of day
where the dense air
weighs down on your shoulders,
presses on your chest
and your lungs draw in liquid air
the type of day where such tangible air
sticking to your skin
makes you feel heavier,
makes you yearn for a cold crisp Ontario lake
so that you can sit by the dock
and strip
peeling the cotton tank top from your shiny chest
and slip
into thin and cool dark water
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