the language of flowers is love

In April showers I think of you,
Dewey and doe-eyed and deliriously lavender
Spinning in the street with that loud echoing laugh of yours,
As I stood, getting soaked, a tiny chamomile
In awe of your purple petals

In April showers I think of you,
Wrapping me in your warmest towel as we watched
The clouds unfold into a sky of lavender and apricot,
The colors kissing as I knew we never would,
While you held me.

In April showers I think of you,
My heart as warm as the tea I brew with only you in mind, my dear, a lavender chamomile.
The herbs at the bottom of the mug don’t say that you will be mine,
But they do say I love you.