poemtober day 2- weave

ive never woven a crown from dandelions 
though ive seen it done a hundred times before.
 the stems split between my fingers,
the milk of the weed sputters out, 
and the fragile, flying seeds stick to it like
feathers to glue.
dandelion petals are so small, so thin,
hairy from the stigma, sticky from the bee, and bending away from my touch. 
if the stems stopped splintering id spend my whole day weaving, 
making ropes and ladders, necklaces and accessories. 
Id wear on my head the rotted petals and leaves
and spray perfume to mask the smell.