Not exactly the romantic vibe I was hoping for, this morning.

Nose stuffed,
     head pounding,
     eyes watering—

     a human waterfall of absolute charm.

Atlanta pollen conspires—
     nature’s revenge for daring
     to have plans,
     to anticipate,

     to want something sweet without side-effects.

Last night was restful,
               relaxed,
      full of laughter,

     we eased through the evening after a long day.

But now, the morning after—
     payment has come due.

Apparently, breathing easy is overrated.

Maybe this is a test:

     "Will you still want me if I’m 70% antihistamine?"

But even this mucous disaster
     won’t keep me away
     from tonight—

     because laughter is waiting,
              stories and smiles;

     if sneezing through a *real date* is what it takes: so be it.

So tonight—
     let the pollen do its worst,
     let breathing be optional,

     because there's no symptom strong enough
     to ruin this date I've waited too long for.

After all—
     it’s still better than *any* Monday…
                                         Without her.