The aroma of fresh cocoa tickles my senses
While the warmth tickles my palms.
Nature expresses its fury in loud sentences,
Peeking in through my window, jealous,
Reflecting the moon as the white powder dances
To the mad rave. The wind wishes to enter
But I’m cozy in here with my cocoa and shearlings
Anger rises, the news anchor’s worried
But I’m here. Warm. Listening to the storm. Warm

(c) nyonglema