Call it in the Air

I was half-expecting it

to be nighttime

or for every

dawn

still

pitch black.

For every you

another mourning

cause you’re volatile

like Tampa weather.

And in my dream about you

I was telling you all about

my dream about you

how every flower

I composed

carried by the wind

went flying out the window.

Toss a fair coin –

tonight you’re nothing special.

But tomorrow

and ever after;

          the thing I love most about her

            is how she notices every starkissed color

in the things she loves.