war in springtime—  
that’s what loving you felt like.  
flowers blooming from bullet holes,  
soft hands loading sharp goodbyes.  
you kissed like a ceasefire,  
brief, trembling,  
already mourning the next round.  
your laughter came with landmines,  
your silence—  
a ****** in the dark.  
I brought you peace,  
you brought me poetry wrapped in grenades.  
and I took it,  
every line,  
every blast,  
because something about ruin  
wearing a floral dress  
felt like the closest thing  
to truth I'd ever touched.  
you were spring,  
yes—  
but also the smoke  
rising from what it left behind.  
and I still breathed it in.