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Love is Pushing Daisies

Too many white daisies pushed up from blackened soil,
Captured in a swollen bouquet,
Spilling petals across my heart.
Hanging upside down to dry a faded yellow,
The leaves droop, 
The petals crumble to dust under my twisting fingertips; 
He loves me...
He loves me not...
The petals fall,
Each one plucked to whisper a hope, to confirm a sorrow;
Still they fall and the bouquet grows ever smaller;
He loves me...
He loves me not...
Yellowed dust sprinkles on faded memories,
Now only a painful scent,
A remaining odor, fermented in the milky sap, leaves a faint residue on my mind;
He loves me not...



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