Of Lilacs and Marigolds

If a wilted Lilac smells of Marigold, does it retain its identity? If an Antirrhinum sprays itself with the perfume of an Ivy, is it forever faithful?
            The Lilac began to speak of you, my dear Juliet. Lilac words tasted of Marigold Poultice and petals displayed their bruises more prominently. As words were whispered, I watched your flowerless Forget-me-nots stir with a sudden chill.
Your Protea speak ill of my Lilac-Marigold. Gossiping of planted Daisy's and Deceitful chrysanthemums. My Lilac whispers to me.  Sweet Juliet, why? Why red Tullips when you dreamed of black Daisy's?
You claimed he was your Lilac boy, darling Juliet. Blue Witch laced your words and when vulnerability knocks, I see shadows of the rashes.
Lovely Juliet, you write of my Lilac as though you showered him in precious Petunia's and delicately nursed the Baby's breath behind his ears. Through hidden words you unveil the red rose you once shared together. In truth, the rose was a hidden Daisy that reeked of your nightshade.

Wilted, sickly and Marigold laced was my Lilac when I found him. I watered him and gave him gifts of good company. But no matter persistence, the Marigold remains. 

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