The Theory Of Falling Petals

Gravity whispers its theorems out in a vacant garden,
We count all the losses by the pulse on your pale, cold wrist.
I searched for the meaning in formulas, but found only burden—
How absurdly the flowers drop down, pretending to co-exist.


Time chews the clock-faces, swallowing hours unfed,
You stare through the pane, calculating the arc of the red.

Припев
It’s merely the theory of falling petals,
Where flora submits to the weight of our sins and settles.
One spirals down like a manifesto we used to profess,
Another concludes its foolish, pointless protest.


The wind's calligraphy on the panes is read right between the lines,
The dictionary of parting lacks the term called "eternal grace".
Every severed blossom is a lesson that clearly defines,
A cold-blooded calculus and a silent, blind embrace.


Time chews the clock-faces, swallowing hours unfed,
You stare through the pane, calculating the arc of the red.

Припев
It’s merely the theory of falling petals,
Where flora submits to the weight of our sins and settles.
One spirals down like a manifesto we used to profess,
Another concludes its foolish, pointless protest.


We buried affection in archives, deep beneath paper dust,
But spring breached the trenches, breaking the seals and the trust.
In this strange ballet of botany, we were the ones to go bust,
Forgetting to utter "Adieu" when the final curtain was thrust.


Just simple science. A delicate scheme.
Red upon white. Who waits in the dream?
Falling and falling and falling. Straight down.
Curtain call, darling. You wear the crown.