Ending theme that is the mood.
The autumn is finally setting upon Florida. Winters winds, her clear blue skies, dip the mercury below 80° and I cannot tell you how refreshing the crisp air feels after three humid seasons. Vivacious gusts ruffle my curls and I am on a sunbeam in a sixth-floor apartment three hours ago. I look up from your chest. In the amber of dawn, I can’t stop thinking you look so nice in wool and stubble. Then, cold hands are wrapped around a mug (decaf, since last summer) while I test my tongue against the bitter Americano you offer each day. We stay, here, still as the sun sets in your lap. I am warmed all over.
I thought I heard you speak at last that morning, but the breeze subsides, or maybe my bangs fall in my face, and I am some time away from you again.