more mars to your bedside

you said that the paper flowers
were too white, too perfect
like the hospital bed sheet
you refused to sleep on
and I had to drive all the way back
to 34 Park Road to retrieve your blue
bed sheet with the planets appliqued —
you believed that to have the best dreams
one would have to put one's head on Mars.
I wonder if it would please you
to see me add to the immaculate bunch
the flower I discarded, the one with my paper cut
sprayed blood dots on the petal edge —
to bring you better dreams, I wonder how many more
red planets my fingers still have to shed