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.