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.