It is very easy to forget the world is there
When there is just you and the smell of hot stone.
A peaceful hum of industrial fans.
The comfort of knowing you’re not alone,
But the silent peace of having your own.
A cooler breeze now caresses the skin,
That the sun tasted too feverishly,
Leaving marks more visible than lovers.
The final belonging,
The knowing your home.
Breeze tickling hairs tickling face.
The most familiar music
dances intricately into an evening.
More remedy than cough syrup,
More peaceful than a calamity mind
had expected or deserves
But the peace is tasted, smelt and founded.
And so I remain.
Lily Portman 