on lonely nights, let us remember
that flowers come in bunches
and bloom unified as one member

even forget-me-nots remain together
through the harsh, fading december.

here's to your flower language,
blooming magic.

you spoke into existence
a session of radiance
and erasure of a monochrome season,
a darling serenade of stars
and gave life a reason.

but forgive me,
for the words of your flower language
do not rest on my tongue as
they lay on yours.

you spoke commas,
when I prepared a full stop.

I am sorry.

someone will learn
your flower language,
blooming magic.

it seems I have
been running on
false hopes.
i have taken
the final breath
of wonder, purity
and now I am faced
with an afterlife
full of nothing.

i would rather be
in the hell the devil preached
than walk along fake heavens
with a hopeless stride.

that place you see
only when the lights
go out.
when the absence of everything
drives desire
and paradise,

let that be
the thing you see
when the lights
come on.

as plants grew,
and life blossomed,
I was stuck in winter.

left with the misty nights
and no feeling left in my
toes
fingers
or heart,
I was stuck in winter.
watching a warm spring celebrate
my faraway
sun.

I fell into the arms
of a foreign name
and she spoke
a peculiar language
that i’d never heard.

though, it was beautiful.

her words danced
upon her lips
and performed to a crowd
of the bed sheets
and i.

I want to learn this peculiar language,
this language she called
“love.”

I had a fear of drowning
yet I still fell in love with the sea.

my dear,
when you grow jealous
of the meadows you are not near
just remember;
every flower desires the sun
and the sun envies the moon.

i can't sleep.

the thought of you beside me is
possibly older than the night herself,
with only mere daydreams
to fill your absence.

who would've known
that you could feel so homeless,
in the comfort
of your own bed?