the last night we went out
you brought me white daisies.
they reminded me of when we met.
i left them on the counter,
and followed you to the car.
we came home- straight to my bedroom.
the next morning i tiptoed to the kitchen,
looking for you,
but instead i found the daisies all wilted and brown.
i thought you had the Midas touch of love,
but like the daisies,
i was dead the second you touched me.
*i wouldn't change a thing.

First, you have get to an email address
and then fashion a sculpture
out of daisies and moonbeams
as a wedding present for your love;
practice your poetry because
it will come in handy when tongue tied;
pentameter is a pocket ace
and the game is cutthroat so you’re
gonna wanna have some ready;
calisthenics are required
as is having the right politics
but dissimilar guacamole preferences
are usually alright for awhile;
be sure to develop a tolerance
for sand between your toes;
learn to frolic, but never skip;
don’t buy a boat because nobody
has time for a sweater cape enthusiast
and drowning is very unromantic;
Grow roses and cook eggs every way
you can but ever respect the bacon;
Practice looking longingly;
Toss your hair and brush your teeth;
**** your socks but carefully
maintain just enough flaws
to seem endearing and then
forget all this because the only
time you chose to fall is suicide
and it’s kind of like a bridge jump,
so it’s time to just lie back and enjoy
the dopamine rush while it lasts;
you’ve roped a unicorn,
the fleeting chemistry of
your synapses will thank
or blame you later.

Lips that have never been kissed
Hair that's never been brushed back
Cheeks that have never been caressed
Hands that have never been held

Yes, I know I dont need a boy
But it gets kind of lonely