Prologue

Afternoon folded into watercolor breath.
Bottle dreams in green,
vase hums in C minor.
The flowers gossip about eternity.

Body I

Law one: Every petal keeps time by swaying.
Law two: Shadows ferment slowly, like thought.
Law three: Light, when trapped in glass, becomes a whispering wine.

I, observer of stems and residue,
count the giggles between the strokes.
One blossom looks at me sideways,
asks if I believe in chlorophyll afterlife.
I nod — it laughs yellow.

Body II

The bottle sighs: “I used to hold meaning.”
The vase replies: “Now you hold memory.”
And the table — wise, wooden —
pretends not to listen.

DADA Break

sip flip drip bloom
lumi–vino–oink

Closing

The color rests, the day exhales.
All that remains is a stain of joy,
and a petal curling toward tomorrow.