this fountain, crowned

with summer's regal splendour,

sputters on our bench.

in the shade of birds

fluttering as a sari in breeze,

you fan lashes

over impossible eyes.

watermelon bright, we go

meandering the locks

to aforetime

whilst i

slant up my maps,

tacked to plot the skies,

and am thankful

for the clarity

of our polite englishness.