Those cool breezes track the morning light. Illuminating instead of heating, they play tricks on morning commutes.The sun has yet to find its coffee left by the moon. I am yet to find my coat. Or one warm enough, you tell me to match the three protecting you. So the winds pick up and the sun hits the snooze alarm. The coffee grows cold. The nascent light hides behind brick and mortar shells. And I am left with freezing chest and sore throat and you are left with a sick and sorry man lying in your bed,
waiting for you.