Casually Daisy-ing Around

A Daisy that you are, so little, so freshly bloomed, that when a starving mountain goat sees you on the frosted, naked cliffs and sniffs your well-crafted petals, decides to starve — dies. Oh, would you not turn your gaze at me and shower your fragrance — invite sunlight into my dimly-lit room; would you… Continue reading Casually Daisy-ing Around