blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms

only thing that blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms
are roses in ceramic pots cracked at the bottom where
they slipped through our butter-greasy fingers which aren’t
clasped anymore like the back strap on my new swimsuit
covered in flowers,
flowers are the only things that bloom and bloom and bloom and bloom
except for blue eyes in russia, we’ve never been to
st. petersburg but i imagine it’s horrible this time of year
or maybe it’s lovely we don’t really care because
we miss your blue eyes under blue bruises blossoming like
blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms
only thing that blooms and blooms and blooms and blooms
is a flower in a ceramic pot sitting on our windowsill while
the sun streams like ribbons of sugar and cold hands,
cold hands,
cold hands bloom and bloom and bloom like roses, weeds,
my hands are always cold, but you’re the one in russia.