Daisies,
I think they linger
After the sun dries
Out all the other
Spring flowers.
Woven,
Like a rope
Of ancient gold.
Embracing,
As if the warm
Night sky's mist
Was entrancing the
Moon.
Marble,
Like the Greek
Kissed its stone
Before carving.
Sky Mocha eyes,
Peering into
Existence.
Tilting heads
Collapse
Under the
Atlantic
As if
Everything was
A dichotomy.
Perhaps
One
Could lie,
One could drown,
With
Daisies.
