by The Cowl Editor on March 1, 2018
by Dawyn Henriquez ’19
The smoke danced,
Curling into our minds and
Selling us paranoia for cents of sobriety
Like a vendor of beans labeled magic,
Giving us stalks through each pass.
After, all that remained was ash
Spread across the coffee table.
The snore of a giant
Lying on the couch the only sound
Cutting through the drizzle
Dripping outside my window.
And, as the blue before dawn
Peeked its head through the darkness,
I stood there
The rain filled sky
With cloud filled lungs.
So much depended
A late Monday