Summer is my
Favorite thing because
It has sunlight and
Strawberries and
Daisies too.
But the best thing of all
Is that summer
Has you.

awoken by a hazy and golden sunrise
i stumbled
from the dewy tangled grass,
head pounding -
almost as hard as the day you left me
i found myself in the field of daisies,
(the same kind of flowers that lay withered for weeks
on my bedside table)
the fragrance pierced my consciousness and before i knew it
we were sitting on that park bench under the moon light
with tiny wild daisies in your one hand -
your other on my thigh
we never would have guessed
that i'd be half drunk a year later
on your memories in a field of ******* daisies

Tonight you're sitting amongst my thoughts as a Daisy
But first, you have yet to be plucked from the field
The field of an unspoken language
But let this moment last, as if tomorrow is the day you will be plucked
And the day you will be plucked it will be the cause of my hand
But as of right now, let the wind take you where you need to go
Sweet Daisy

that night, under the dark midnight sky
I weaved daisies into your hair
and pinned dandelions to the collar of your shirt
left lipstick trails like stars along your jaw
and goose bumps trailing behind my fingertips

and I came home at three a.m
wearing your soft grey jacket
and traces of your cologne on my skin
sleep willingly lost
and innocence willingly traded
for just a taste
of what love truly is

What you don't see
is the way I wait,
watching her braid
worries in her hair
speckling small daisies,
my eyes like tumblers
gulping her in swigs
as she perches glasses
on the arch of her nose,
and then we'll take
a photo
to remark on how
we were back then
and now.

I never used to cry this hard, not even when he was pronounced dead.
They pronounce you dead because that becomes your new name; you are nothing but a carcass that needs to be dealt with before it rots.
Sometimes I see him, with a daisy tucked behind one ear and a pen behind the other.
Bare-footed, of course.
He always told me how important it is to know as well as to feel where you are going.
Death is more than an acquaintance to me, we've met on many terms.
The first time I encountered death was when she carried a part of me there in her *****.
I never left and I don't think I ever will.
You broke the dam behind my eyes (you made me feel like I never thought I could) and I don't have enough materials to patch it up.
I'm desperately trying to fix myself but I can't; you're holding of my resources in your arms instead of holding me.
Please put your lips on mine before I drown us both.

After the rain, I see the daisies,
In their clean, white dresses,
Fresh and perfect.
Washed and bright,
Their faces lifted to the skies,
And open to the sun.

Is it their youth that makes them so fearless,
Despite their diminutive size?
A naivety of spirit or
Lack of worldly knowledge?
Or do their fleeting, precarious lives
Lead them to so embrace the now?

No, their beauty springs from a truth far older,
For they are neither flashy nor flamboyant.
A daisy knows no subterfuge,
Has no jealousies, no conceit.
Its wisdom lies deeper,
And it bends with the wind.

To value the time that we have,
To see beauty in the smallest places,
And to love without fear,
Is a talent easily lost,
And the line between happy and sad is drawn
With a thin pencil and a light touch.

In miniature perfection,
A daisy lives fully,
Its face in the sunlight.
It lives, and that is enough.

Vicki Watson © 2014