By: Nabs

    When I was little, my mother often gave me flowers.

She would make me a crown of Primroses that smells like the day my father left us.
I would smile and dance a little twirl that had her smiling fondly. Her little princess, Said she couldn't live with out me.
I believed her.

Right before my mother decided to stop breathing, she gave me a bouquet of Lily of the valley.

I never knew that apology was poisonous.

    The day I turned fifteen, my grandmother gave me a book on flowers, It was written with green ink and bound in human skin. Said that It was family heirloom. Said that the universe needed someone who understand Hana. Said that I was born to understand only them and to remember that flowers are ephemeral.

I cradled the book, feeling as if the world was spinning. Opening it feels like coming home after a long time of drowning.

By the time I realized, a bush of Basil and beds of Petunias were growing in my home like ****. The color should have been red instead of purple.

      I met you when you were giving a bundle of daisy to a boy.
The boy scoffed and slapped the daisies to the ground. It's petal were falling apart just as blue and black blooms like an eager bud on you. Your body were taut as a string but your face was smiling, the kind of smile I couldn't decipher the meaning.

I picked the daisies up and asked if i could keep it.  You said only if I gave you my name.

You were wreathed with White Hyacinth and Pine leaves. It suits you.

    You told me one day, after you gave me a Bleeding Heart, that I needed to learn more than the languages that flower speak. That I needed to learn human.
I asked to you why do you say that?
You looked at me, with a little smile and a soft look on your face. Told me that I was too oblivious, I was more flower than human. I frowned and said," That hurts".
You laughter was much more sweeter than any Honeysuckle.

Though I still didnt understand your laughter nor the bleeding heart.

    The sight of our hands lacing together, looks much more delicate than Queen Anne laces. It made me aware of the dips of your lips, how warm your callouses hands were and the way you sometimes darts to sneak a glance at me with warmth in your eyes when you thought I wasn't looking.
I would feel my heart thumping loudly and I would disentangle our hands, trying to hide the tremors in my hands. You would pursed your lips and cracked a joke.

The next day I received a bouquet of Lilacs and red Peonies. It was too beautiful and I was already withering.

    You often asked If I was ok. I said I was. You would go rigid at that and started to pull down all the blinds to your soul. But that day when I answered I was ok, you gave me an Orange mock.
Said that I can trust you. You left with out meeting my eyes.

That night, I left a single Aster on your window sill. Hoping I did the right thing.

    The thing was, I was scared. Not of you, no never of you. That I swear on White Lilies and Myrtles that we bound ourself to.
It's just, every time I'm with you I want to bare my self naked. To let you see how the parasites are growing inside me, withering me as it did my mother. My grandmother would say that it is our legacy we cannot escape. To grow and bloom then wither ourself after the peak.

My Grandmother was a Sakura tree, My Mother an Ajisai, and I was a Tsubaki.

My mother was supposed to lived longer than me. But Hydrangeas needed their rain or they'll wither away.

    You told me once, that I remind you of Wisterias. Always enduring even after the cruelest storm. I grimaced and whacked you on the back. Said that you were an idiot for thinking that. You laughed again and tickled me until I asked for mercy.

I feel less Tsubaki and more human with you.

    I never let you go to my home because I could not bear the thoughts of you seeing the lawn strewn Marigolds, the grief that latched itself to the soil.
How the yards was filled with weeds and plants that was tangling them self to choke each other. How the walls was bare and the furniture was only enough to survive. The only thing that was lending colors to my home were the branches of Plum Blossom and bouquet of Lilacs and Peonies that seems to not wither away.

This home would not hold further.

    I gave you Blue Carnations the night when vines were choking my lungs, making it hard for me to breathe.

You said they were beautiful, and smiled a serene smile. I wanted to kiss you so bad, but I was leaking clear salty sap, that was rolling down my cheeks. I told you all about Hana and all about my family. How bare my home is and how you are my Iris, my good news, my good tidings.

You hugged me, not minding the sap that's staining your shirt. I didn't see the Red Camellia you were tucking in my hair.

  The day when I almost gave you Red Daisies and Lungwort was the day I found out that you had severe allergy to flowers.
That breathing their pollen would shorten your life as the breath you took became a privilege that you were slowly losing.
I asked, "why would you endanger yourself like that?".
"I love flowers, that's all", you said with an uncaring shrug.
The thoughts of you withering away, made me nauseous.

I went home throwing away the Daisies and Lungwort, Burning down the marigolds and Petunias.

The only thing was left were Hana and the bouquet of Lilacs and Red Peonies.

  I never get to told you that my roots was withering.

  When you found me lying on my home, covered with Primroses, Camellias, and Blood Red Poppies, I know that you knew. In your hand were Peach Blossoms and they were so very beautiful.
You cradled me close to your chest. Whispering that I will be okay, that It's unfair for me to do this to him.
"I know", I rasped. My voice was barely working and Black-Red sap was steadily tricking from the corner of my lips.

  When I saw my mother walking down to me, carrying a basket full of Sweet Peas, Volkamenia, and Yarrows, I understand what your smile meant the first we met.

It was Red Camellias, Love and acceptence

like words
sold in churches
dissolved like a
communion wafer
on the tongue
of the infinite
like an
empty banquet
beneath a gothic arch
there is no conquering
it is the art
of no conquering
she said
and showed me
a bowl of fruit
some rotten
morsels in her ribcage
in the winter
parking lot
buick town car
we are riding across
the pavement of the east
and that’s the same ***
everyday he’s greedy
for my images
i keep them in the glovebox
with the receipts
i don’t look at him today
i can’t
see him in the mirrors
cutting up the scenery
something is misplaced
i’ve left it in
the bedroom
in the boxes
you are taking
down south
your precious hedge clippers
and crosby, stills
nash and young
do you really
need them?
down south
where they’ve got
horses
and go karts
and snakes
and tvs in their showers
and biscuits and gravy
and dust
and rodeo
and milk crates
and model ts
and model as
and all the other
so called
necessities
you say my cousin
my uncle
all are happy
your father
unknown as you are
unknown
this is what
is before me
he is closing
his eyes
and speaking:
“hana”
“dul”
“set”
repeat
“hana”
“dul”
“set”
it is the art
of no-conquering
he says
and smiles
beneath a ripped-out ceiling
beneath a vaulted space
return
he says
to breath
look through the images
he calls us
into our own bodies
into our own spaces
“hana”
“dul”
“set”
the absolute reality
he says
is where we are all god
“hana”
you shouldn’t be trying
to feel any certain way
“dul”
i came up with the idea
for flavored crust pizza
until those *******
at hungry howies
stole it
“set”
he is lighting a cigarette
she is pouring tea
she is taking off her underwear
“this world’s gonna keep on spinning”
“i wish i-“
“man i’mma get mine”
“aw **** it”
“no better than the man in the moon”
“need to get some new drywall in here”
“santa’s not cheap”
samsara
is
samsara
return to breath
“hana”
“dul”
“set”

Beautiful flower poem in japanese:

Utsukushi hana:

Utsukushi hana no yona
Sore wa chimei-tekina kakusa reta toge o motte iru
Utsu no o matte iru
Umareta bakarita jinsei o shuryo suru
Hayai, sore o haishutsu suru
Sore ga kanso suu tame ni
Jinsei o mite kare
Fuyu wa kono michi o kuru toki,-suki
Katsute atatakakatta subete no seimei o korosu
Sore wa taikutsu ***** ita toyuu riyu dakede
Sono utsukushii hana
Sore no tame ni jinsei
Meiwakuna hachi no yona monodesu

But who cannot give the true world to true Christians? It's a great opportunity to learn the wiki/oh club, the patient's styles, the latest work and the smallest Arabic language. People all over the world admit that they go to a cold place. Begin to go to the owl. There are 16 colorful flowers in Mexico that are covered with ****** and wool ducts. By his hands, creator of the fire of his prayer to the green lunar lights in evergreen forests. The Simple and Simple ****** notifications show, from dark to modern, feminine and elegant ibid etu. In lunar month 60, the 60 lunar months are celebrated during the 60th month of the moon, the durability of the hills and other options. The father of modern philosophers, philosophers and biologists is the culture of his father. For example, on January 1, the male is floating in the river. Others are in deep darkness. They were attacked in California. Security The German form has changed. "In Saudi Arabia between 2016, 2016 and 2017, between 7 ****** and 100 dollars in Saudi Arabia and Africa from seven to five Latin American ****** and Lebanese psychologists in three African countries and Saudi Arabia, Azerbaijan, Syria and Saudi Arabia Arabia Azizar, Arabs, many Arabs, Arabs, Mexico, pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ... in Syria, Arabia, ****** in Saudi Arabia and Russia, Rwanda and South America, from north to north, example, music, 1 things, 1, United States , Sierra Leone, USA, New Yasin, Hana, 2016, 7 prostitutes with *** / AIDS in Sierra Leone and ****** for about 15 years in the United States is the father of the modern physicist. "Piloviši āšitirononiši. "But who can not give the true world to Christians? It's a great opportunity to learn the wiki / oh club, the styles of the patients, the ****** and the Arabic language to go to a cold place with ducts and wool Hands, its creator on fire, its p Yer, the golden lunar lights, in evergreen forests Visualization of simple and unique notifications from dark to modern, feminine, legibidetu In the 60th month The lunar months are celebrated during the 60th month of the moon, the hills, the durability and other options.The father of the philosophers; philosophers, ****** and modern biologists in this culture of his. For example, the 1 January, the male is floating in the river., others are in Deep darkness, were attacked in California Security Security The German way has changed: "In Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia and Saudi Arabia, and between 2016, 2016 and 2017, between 7 ****** and 100 dollars is in Saudi Arabia ****** and Africa, fr seven to five Latinos, Americans, psychologists and Lebanese in three African countries in Saudi Arabia, Saudi Arabia, Azerbaijan, Syria and Saudi Arabia, Azizar, Arabs, many Arabs, Arabs, Mexico, Pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ... in Syria, Saudi Arabia and Russia, Rwanda and South America, from north to north, for example, music, 1 things, 1, EU. United States, Sierra Leone, USA, New Yasin, Hana, 2016, 7 *** / AIDS Q Sierra Leone and the ***** ******, approximately 15 years in the United States and father of the modern physicist, "piloviši āšitirononiši".

But who cannot give the real world to true Christians? It is a great opportunity to read the wiki / ice clubs, the patient's styles, the ultimate work, and the smallest Habubi. Youths from around the world are welcome to go to a cold place. They begin to go to an owl. In Mexico, there are 16 colored flowers covered with leather and wool. By their hand, their Creator with their fire, their prayers in their prayers, the lunar green lights, the invented forests. Simple, unique notification display from dark to modern, female, legibidetu. If the 60's moon lunar months in the city (if necessary) in the 60's moon lunar months, the hills are sustainable and other options are granted. Modern philosopher father, philosopher and biologist is his father's culture. For example, January 1 male males are floating in the river. Others are in deep gloom. They were attacked in California. Security Safety The German way has changed. "Haiti in prostitution in Saudi Arabia and Saudi Arabia in the USA, and in 2018, 2016 and 2017 between US $ 7 and US $ 100 in Saudi Arabia and Africa, seven to five Latinos, the US, psychologists and Lebanon In Niger, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Azerbaijan, Syria and Saudi Arabia, Azizar, Arabs, many Arabs and four Arabs, Mexico, Pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ..., Syria, Saudi Arabia and Russia, Raw and South America. It is connected so we travel north to north, for example, music, 1 things, 1, Italy US, in the United States, in Sierra Leone, in the United States, New Yasmin, Hanna, 2016, 7 *** / AIDS / *** / AIDS in Sierra Leone and ******, has 15 years in the United States. He is the father of modern physicist "Plovts Astronomes".

However, who cannot fail to ignore the true Christians for the realm. It's a wonderful opportunity to read the prayers of the Wizards / Snow Clubs, the Patient Styles, Finally the Great Work and the Little Honey bun. Worldwide, young people are the cool place for young foreigners to get in. They begin to go into the dazzle, and in Mexico there are 16 colored flowers that are covered with skin and musk. Professionals with their fire-burning creations for their own hands, with their prayer hands, the moon's apple-lamps, the inventor's jungle. Simple, unique notification screen from dark to modern, woman, legibidetu. In the city, the nickname of the sack (if the need is greatest) in 60 consecutive lunar months is given to the nomadic hippies and other options. Modern philosopher father, philosopher, biologist father is his own culture. For example, on January 1, sweeteners of male breeds are floating in the river. Others are in deep darkness. They were attacked in California. Security Safety The German Road has changed the way. "Haiti was born in the United States to prostitutes in Asia and Saudi Arabia and in 2012 in 2018, 2016 and 2017 between 7 and 15, 100 USA in Saudi Arabia and Africa, from seven to five Latinos, USA, psychologists and Lebanie Newman, FBI in Africa, who belongs to Syria, Latin America, Syria and Saudi Arabia, Azizar, in the city many Arabs and four Arabs, Mexico, Pharaoh in Palestine, Palestine ..., Syria, Saudi Arabia and Russia. , Raw and South America cover ******, and my pacifier is in line with the mountains. So we're moving north to north, eg. . . , Music, Things with 1, .. 1, Italian, Spanish 1 Things to See in the Night, March 1 and 3 Set / European allergy in the United States, USA, New Yasin, Hanna, 2016, 7 ; *** / AIDS / AIDS in the Sierra Leone and ****** prostitutes. In 2017 in the United States, in Sierra Leone there is 15 years in the United States. A father of science is the father of "Presbyx Astronomos," the father of modern physics from the United States.

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Pink blossoms falling,
warriors falling in kind;
Portland in springtime.

Hale, hearty hana
aloft on the vernal winds,
transient beauty.

Cut down in my prime,
someday, I, too, shall fall down,
fading into dirt.

Like my mother did,
and my father before me,
returning to dust.

Until then, I fight;
Until then, I carry on,
a blossom in Spring.

sunrise
i'm stumbling thru a salt fog
out on the coast in a campground
with two tiny squares of paper stained
on my tongue looking for a patch of dry yellow
withered grass in the tall dunes to lay down in for a while
until the pressure of tears subsides or overcomes the corners
of my eyes & temples

i'll spend the day tight-chested
under the sinewy arms of a magnolia
tree with teeth clenched against hiccups
& clear snot running freely out of my nose
down my chin as green tea waves lick my twinkling
toenails with an open-throated warble & beads of sweat
collect in the hollows of my skinny knees & race down to my
vulnerable achilles

i'll be eaten alive by bloodthirsty
beach fleas after the sun burns off the fog
& i'll ride the high salt wave with the melodies
of sunrise birds like a sikh on a psychedelic print
karastan rug with hair to my shoulders & dirt on my
knees while the beer-hall bellows of tree frogs echo over
my stretched earlobes

sure i'll watch the girl weaving
thru the shimmering florida heat wave with
hypnotic green eyes & long legs that disappear
briefly into thin white cotton shorts & then emerge
again at the endless curve of the hipbone peach creme
neck adorned by a single shining jewel riding a thin rose
gold coiled rope

while i'm listening to
willie nelson & struggling to hold
back tears she waves i wave back in
the reflexive naked itch to be a gentleman
she slips thru the dunes with fluid grace & sits
down with hair smelling like orange blossoms &
begins to hum-sing like a pink finch in champagne
& i finally give in to the impulse to cry

when i do she holds me
with about an hour before the sun sets
where the shoreline doubles back on itself
we watch as the dolphins catch rides through
the breakers on the last yellow shafts of sunlight
before the cool night air closes on us like a fist around
an azure plastic doorknob

the ocean bit the sun &
as her lips found my butterscotch
cheeks & the trees sizzled behind us
the stars swarmed like a bright cloud of
bees overhead we danced in swirls of wood
smoke whispering secrets to the campfire & her
******* stiffened when my tongue touched her belly
& the flying embers whistled

tonight
we'll sleep together in a blanket
tangle of sweat soaked beach towels
like two organic granola humans fighting
to stay children forever & when i press the plump
button of her ******* she sinks deep into my chest like
it's upholstered in expensive leather & twitches like a moth
seduced by the glow of a kerosene lamp

when we wake up
wet & stuck together before dawn
she kisses my tumid lips with her eyelashes
& pokes holes in my morning breath with her tongue
she dresses in a golden chrysanthemum gown & asks me
to zip it up over her powder pale shoulder-blades so she can
escape across the crunchy wildfire fodder & wet pavement to dance
& kick in the frothy white surf opposite the dunes as the first waves
of heat bounce like vectors in a microwave oven but i am much
more comfortable here folded up tight like a lawn chair in a
hurricane in an alternate world where my heart hasn't
been reduced to the floor pedal of your mother's
foot powered sewing machine in the
forgotten attic an alternate world
in which my name became
more than a delicate
vocabulary flicked
from your
tongue

He heard a last echoed clink of liquor-laden ice-cubes,
Stuck between two stools that screamed for company,
I gazed across his vacant stare to the barman –the silent DJ,

Professionally ignorant as I gestured my hoarse thirst,
I waited a little minute, another minute an’ just one more,
Enter our businessman, full-schedule, long-hauled to drink,

With a rib-eye steak of a face an’ breath surely barbecued,
Two satisfied cheeks, pink-puffed with brows fit for burial,
Teeth ground with tension but brighter than the lighting

A fungal-lung nose perched upon a smile that I could smell,
He plumbed himself wet-shave close to my stiffened neck,  
“..Hana Drink..?” (Silence) best to follow the DJ’s example,

(Bullish huffs) (Lips licked) “.. Ya’ll wantin’ a drink, Mister?..”  
Flustered by the company, I replied “..Non, Je think eh Je chi..”
A retort of sorts, faux languages not my degree, “..Leaba..Bed!”

Spluttered just at the end – an insulting first impression,
He seemed nervously joyous, loosened from being himself,  
Yet his trouser belt buckled, pulled tight to conversation level,

An’ Redwood-trunk hands, alive with the latest deal struck,  
“..Bedtime for us..” he bare-bawled, splitting my weary eyes,
His numbed arm clumsily flung around me, “..bedtime for us!..”,

DJ unmuted, the music paused, I mouthed softly “..just the bill..”
(Silence)
“..Who’s Bill?.. a friend?…Is he cute?.. So this drink?” I panic still.

There's a ***** house in my mouth
Pierced and left to deflate
Tonight I'm gone
Imperative to maintain the fixation of the bonds
Clean shaven
Looking to make the happiest of dirt
Shriveled
The byproduct of a contaminated mans creation
History's gone
Slept on like a pillow in a bed of elements
The question in case is encased
Buried deep, pushing up daisies at arms length
The says have been said
This waste of time is a trend
And maybe there's something illicit inside you
Caked in 12 year old Scotch
A debauchery in progress
I want to pull it out
And kiss it back inside

On the ground,
I keep an eye on the world,
the world of flowers,
I've seen succes like the Amaryllis,
the sweet sense of the Apple Blossom,
the desire of Camellia's passion,
and the forgiveness of the daffodil,
So many flowers in this world,
SO many possibilities
feels like a garden,
but something bothers me,
deep inside of me
something I always wonder,
watashi no hana wa doko desuka?
Where is my flower?

Let the snow petals fall around me enrobing me in their greatness, the sweet succulent scent of cherry blossoms emerge . My heart quickens to the excitement of the birthing spring near.

this poor, delicate flower
being carried away by the whispers of the wind
once blooming the the morning's basking glow
now immortalized as a lost soul