We traded mixed tapes between classes,
yours wrapped up in red crinkled paper;
mine with a cut-out picture from a magazine,
filled with songs that collided into adolescent kisses,
clumsy and sugar cane cursed at with penned devotion.
You know I hid my confessions in the contents of a song,
with hopes tied in a bunny-eared bow in hopes you would notice.
Me, sitting up late in my bedroom tracing the way your name fit with mine;
cursive curly looped letters that seemed a perfect refrain,
that I sang along as I tore apart wild run daisies.
Petal by petal.
You love me, you.
You love me not.
You must know how much I love you.
Daisy :: Ben Lee