If I could lie in bed, by my window
forever, I would. But only when
it’s dark and stormy outside and
the wind whistles by my side,
around the middle of November.
If I could listen to the trees roar
and growl, so peacefully loud,
not here with me, but still so
close, I would jump at every chance.
If I could feel the subtle draft
of chaotic darkness kiss my
cheeks and bare shoulders
for years and years, I would.