Wind’s Howling

She’s outside, my bae—my boo— 

waiting, while I’m inside with 

you. The candles are lit 

and we share knowing nods. 

You ask what you can do for me, 

but it’s not about service. 

I yearn for what we do together

and leave her on read. 

The wind is howling, and 

carries the scent of lilac and gooseberries, 

but it is overwhelming, that and the Dandelion. 

I’m ready. It’s time for Basil. 

Let’s lay them down— 

you and I. Be nasty, decimate me 

with your strong, monster deck

I promise it’s okay, she’ll be there when we’re done. 

The Merigolds will flourish. 

This is our time, 

my B.B. 



Michael Bettendorf’s work has appeared in a handful of places around the internet and in print (neato!) He lives in Lincoln with his partner and dog where he tries to convince the world Nebraska is too strange to be a flyover state.

Categories: Poetry

Daily Drunk

Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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