Before A Storm
I love the world before a storm.
The quiet, still, heavy air
sitting thick in front of my face.
Standing up from a chair,
peeling the skin away because
the humidity makes it stick.
My roommate and I
lying spread eagle in bed in our underwear,
t-shirts pulled up to reveal our stomachs,
sheets and duvets kicked aside,
fighting over who gets to sleep with
the fan pointed at them.