In the rose field
lush and blooming splendidly;
Be the cantaloupe.

Standout /ˈstandaʊt/

It was after a long-awaited response
(Which turned out to be a slap to the face
Rather than a fresh kiss tinted with sunlight)
That, instead of mournful silence
(It is silence that I often miss),
I giggled at a thought;

I feel like a dog running alone in
A cantaloupe field,
Just a little melon collie.

A small girl taps on my shoulder while
I try to nurture the small smile playing on my lips.
My face scolds it and life returns to its
Regular programming,
Leaving me with the wisp of happiness
And the sense that he was wrong.