We were flowers, twisted ‘round each other in red thread speaking soft words under soft rains – hard park benches pretending we didn’t love what was in the other’s head. We were flowers, one flower, ‘round and ‘round in red lipstick that stained and teethmarks from words left unsaid We were pacing old trodden paths digging old sodden trenches We were flowers, cut at the stem bleeding love bleeding red Speaking cold words in floods, sitting on lonely park benches.