Petals everywhere as she watches the Mexican dancing daisies high on the wall. A rose pink blush to them as she sees their artificial counterparts scattered backstage where the new chap confuses Sleeping Beauty and Giselle. He loves me he loves me not with a quartet of prince’s each with a bloom to offer for take or toss. a missive of love. perhaps with memory future in a mirror I arrive beside you holding a fragrant bouquet. Leafing through the pages of a Scottish poetry anthology, it all comes flooding back as I cup a palm to catch the tears.’left the thorn’ beneath a fingertip discs of scarlet