They thought she was lost.
As she floated aimlessly from
one gate to the other,
poking her head in to any open window.
But she was merely,
letting her instincts guide her feet.
Taking in the faint smell of
acid corroded paper.
The odour of academia-
stale, sturdy and stern.
They watched her with a frown.
They mocked her curiosity.
Her romantic eyes, they hated-
how she looked at them romantically.
But she was too busy
wishing underneath the cussonia tree.
Temporarily forgetting her dispositions.
Indeed she was looking at them-
with romantic eyes.
Arrogantly they went back to sleep.
It was a cold winter's night.
Yet she remained under the cussonia tree,
and allowed the blade-like wind,
in the shape of her love's body-
to caressed her cheeks,
press itself against her bosom,
piercing deep into her naked heart.
There they made love,
the wind and she.
Under the cussonia tree-
over and over...
over and over...
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