"When you are loved by an artist, you are immortal," I paint the tips of your fingers with deep blue, and the ocean forms with a movement of your hand. Pretty, so very endlessly pretty. You make the elements of earth become even more endearing.

"You live in their every masterpiece, live in their every breath," I draw finishing touches on the edges of your mouth - that I want to kiss every moment - and shadows of despair form in the words that you let out. But they sound pretty, so very endlessly pretty. You make every word in the dictionary become even more meaningful.

"And when you hurt them, you live in their memories forever." I sew words into your skin and you wince in pain but you don't stop me.
Thank you for making this easier for me.

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.