Cherry Blossoms

we are holding hands in the barrel of a gun.
i am searching the briar patch for something other than
apology, and she hands me cherry blossoms
in the shape of defiance. she ties me in forget-me-(k)nots.
steals the wind from the tornado. casual kleptomaniac,
even as they yell blasphemy, yell soul sick bone deep
wrongness. there is no story where two girls
get a happy ending. she tells me, fine, we’ll write it ourselves,
sings the beginning in the poetry of sunrise,
and i can’t help but dream of the wildflower epiphany
of maybe things will be okay after all.
i want to be the colour of the honeysuckle in her eyes.
how terrifying it must be to be so soft. how beautiful
to be so luminous. she touches me like spring cleaning,
calls me raindrop, robin, rosebud, river song.
ignores the ones yelling sacrilege, yelling hurricane.
she tells me, love is the most beautiful natural disaster,
and for the first time, my tsunami heart believes it.
we are holding hands in the barrel of a gun.
they pull the trigger, but when she is kissing me
only cherry blossoms come out.

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