if you think i do, it’s i don’t

when you talk about flowers,

they’re full of reminiscences of warm, violet days back in 18.

when you talk about flowers, i don’t think of rose, chrysanthemum, dahlia, nor countless names that traced beyond memories within the coming of age. i think about the card instead, one’s you wrote all the Latins so i could learn

when you talk about flowers, i still portrayed few of the madness where i found those beauties on my side yard, which you put intentionally to apologize, to thank enough of things i don’t deserve.

when you talk about flowers, the past glance at me once, but i passed