Since I met you,
I started finding flowers everywhere —
in my pockets,
in my books,
in the old boxes where I keep my childhood toys.
Flowers on my tables,
inside the medication box — empty since you came.
Flowers under my bed,
on my pillow,
in the wooden drawers with locks
for which I’ve lost all the keys.

Since I met you,
I find flowers in my dreams,
in my secret thoughts,
in the songs that get stuck on my tongue
without really knowing the lyrics.

Since I saw you,
flowers started growing along my spine, in my veins,
between the chambers of my heart.
Flowers bloomed out of my ears,
petals seen surfing on sound waves,
resonating with the frequency of my soul.

When I saw you,
my cat began chasing wildflowers on the balcony
instead of mice.
Birds built a nest
on my bedroom window
out of blossoming twigs.

Since I met you,
I started the strangest cravings —
flowers for breakfast, petals for lunch,
a touch of pollen in my drinks.
I exchanged my habit of smoking
for inhaling the scent of spring.

The moment I saw you,
the sun transformed into a sunflower;
your face became its star,
and it orbited the day around you,
setting behind your pillow
the second you closed your eyes.
The lost moon went crazy
and exploded into poems
across the night sky of my mind.

Since I have you,
an incredible phenomenon began to appear:
people who crossed our path
found flowers in the most unusual places —
in their bread,
their morning coffee,
their winter coats,
all over the shop windows,
and even in the cracking spaces between paving stones.

Since I love you,
working-class heroes
started finding flowers in the piles of files,
the squeaking desks,
their bosses’ ties,
and the ashtrays still burning with cigarettes.

Since I met you,
the entire educational system underwent a radical change:
students were tested on the Pythagorean systems of flower arrangements,
the geometrical forms of budding seeds,
the potential energy of a fallen leaf,
Lavoisier’s law of conservation of flowers,
Mendel’s inheritance patterns of colors and fragrances,
the topographic maps of the earth’s plants.
Baudelaire’s Fleurs du Mal was taught in French classes,
and children’s eyes opened wide each morning,
knowing they would be playing with colors all day.

Since I have you,
the evening rush-hour became more colorful:
traffic lights turned into odes to spring,
flowers grew between the rails of late trains,
into the guitar cases of subway musicians,
and through the footsteps of the rats,
the homeless,
the lovers,
the lost,
the late,
the tired,
the millions of faces longing for home,
who began exchanging their worries
for a simple bunch of flowers.

Since I have you, my love,
strange newsflashes began appearing
on late-night shows:
flowers were seen dropping like bombs on various cities,
popping out of machine guns,
climbing over border walls,
dripping from prison doors.
The scent of blooming flowers
found secret paths to enlighten lost souls.
It seems the world finally paused —
just to sit down and admire the bursting colors
you brought into my existence.

Is spring seeping into my life,
or is it love,
summoning all the flowers?

This poem was published in Rebellesociety Journal