i can no longer say i love you
without coughing up
a calyx of petals, darling;
a flower,
for every written poetry,
a flower,
for each metaphor for your eyes.
a flower,
for each pillow-talk,
for each time i looked for
your amber eyes in a crowd,
a flower,
for each sunset wish
and each love letter buried
at the end of every song, darling —
a flower, for each time
i say i love you
without trying to say your name —
a flower for each time
i listen
to pareidolias of your voice
mixed
with the pitter-patters of the rain.

just a flower, i thought.

but darling, my lungs are now a garden
of your favorite flowers;

they are now a garden
of all the times
i tried to unlove you
and all the times
i ever failed.

darling, they are now a garden
of all my i love you’s

and all the
i love you too’s
you won’t
ever
say.

i see you, hazel-green eyes
light face littered with shaded freckles like stars
your favorite color is purple
you love caramel candies
and musical theatre

i see your face light up when you talk about your dreams
your smile clear and bright
but you dont see me
thorns scraping my insides as the vines wind their way around my organs
squeezing the blood out of my heart
i choke on it and spit out dripping rose petals
burned and charred leaves from the flame you lit in me

i'm trying to hold my breath
for every breath i take, the bristles scar my lungs
tearing my heart into unrequitable shreds
but
you dont see me as i slowing, painful
drift away into the ****** petals