Dahlias laugh like
you, swinging their heads.
You want to rub
over me, like a vast sea in wait,
linked with an island.
There was no reason
to script like Albert Camus.
But I was moving
out of line.
Would you be my best friend,
after I was asked to love
my rival?
No ghost name was
needed to follow the truth,
when you were being
counted.
Behind the red
clover lies a promise.
There was no malignancy.