Black Tulips Poem by Harlequin Rose

Jealousy dreams of deceiving
so that's what we do
we allow ourselves a fantasy
a certain flower
rare
mysterious
irrationally coveted
and worth any risk to own
to posses
to crush in our palms
as nothing more than the language of poets
we love
and hate
in exactly the same way
we risk our lives
to escape ourselves
but we find our way back
with our noses tilted
toward the scent of assumptions on the breeze
strange to believe
a flower led her and I
back to we.