I sing dandelion seeds

My chrysanthemum/daisy/buttercup bouquet in a shoebox is a love poem.  I open it for you, smiling, but you see only the yellows, not the asters that are my eyes.  I sing dandelion seeds, each note touching your face.  You brush it away, this music that is felt, that tickles, that tangles in your hair.  I bring you violets and call them haiku.