flowers say,
"we weep because
they pierce my heart
to make garlands."

they say,
"we are delicate and fragile
are pinched and plucked
for your delight."

they say,
"we are pressed dry between pages and sheets
in the name of memories
of your first love or proposal."

they say,
"let us wither with time
fall off into the soil
after the butterflies' visit.

let us see our natural death
without being murdered
between your fingers.

let us live
listen to the songs of the nightingale
and drench in the rain."

"please,
will you?"

©...