Daisy Chain

You made me a daisy chain once,
Long before the static of radios called you away,

To a world of bright lights and breaking bottles,
Of thick smoke and glitter-painted lips.

I remember the bend in your wrist as you held the flowers up to the summer light,
When your arm was white and clean and your voice was still soft.

But now, our little hammock lies forgotten beneath heavy bodies and soda cans,
As you dance in the cold of basements, loiter in the dark of bedrooms.

And your thin reflection hangs dull in the mirror as you paint your eyes black and green,
Brush pink into your cheeks, blot away your freckles,
Until your face is old and foreign.

As I stand and remember the look of fresh flowers in your hair.