Fear sits in the first line of "sakura coloured lenses" and never leaves. The speaker is happy, even dazzled, and that happiness is exactly what frightens them. Everything the poem celebrates is already being mourned. Its central idea is that love can be savoured and dreaded at once, and that a person can knowingly choose a beautiful illusion because they suspect the truth will hurt.
The title sets up the controlling metaphor. Sakura, the cherry blossom, is a flower we associate with brief, brilliant bloom, so the speaker's pink world carries its own expiry date. By the end, the lenses have become "rose tinted glasses i choose to wear", and the verb matters. The speaker is not fooled. They call the happiness "my illusion" and "the huge dream i have created / just for myself". A word like "choose" gives the speaker some dignity: they are not naive, only unwilling to look away yet. The same verb returns for the other person, who may "choose / to cut me at the roots". Two choices face each other, one to keep the dream and one to end it.
The opening images are soft and sensory. Morning dew appears beside an "amber sunset", two times of day that cannot happen together. That suggests the scene is half-remembered or half-imagined, a dream not a snapshot. The blossoms are personified, "crinkling their little noses" at "the fresh scent of your detergent and the faint / waft of my floral perfume". Here a poem about sights turns on smell. The beloved is present only as the clean smell of laundry, a small domestic detail that makes the closeness feel real. The speaker's floral perfume blends with the blossoms, so the speaker slips into the flowers they describe.
That merging is what makes the second half so unsettling. The speaker turns into "a lone daisy in the field on a / stormy night", a humbler flower than the sakura and a far more isolated one. The blossoms are now "torn from their / branches in the violent graze" of being "cut off", and the palette drains from pink and amber to a "grey white / reflection of the overly large crescent moon". The phrase "overly large" is odd, since a crescent moon is usually slight, and the oddness gives the image a nightmarish distortion. The botanical metaphors also pile up: blossom, daisy, roots, soil. They are not tidy, but that suits a mind spiralling through every way a flower can be destroyed. The roots and "fertile soil" bring a new anxiety, that without this person the speaker will never "go into full bloom".
The form carries the same breathlessness. There is no rhyme and no regular metre, and the lowercase lines and missing apostrophe in "dont" give the voice a diary-like, unguarded feel. Lines break in the middle of phrases ("grown to / love so much"), so the sense keeps spilling over the edge, as if the speaker is afraid to stop. There are only three sentences, and the first is very long. Small sound echoes hold it together: "crinkling" and "twinkling", "wistfully fading", and the repeated "fresh". Near the end the lines shorten, "never to see another sunrise, / with you", like petals dropping one by one. Isolating "with you" on its own line is the poem's quietest stroke. It could mean that the sunrises will not be shared, or that the sunrises themselves depend on this person. The ambiguity lets the whole future hang on one phrase.
What makes the poem worth reading is its honesty about a very ordinary feeling. Many love poems celebrate or grieve, but this one does both at the same moment, and it shows the speaker fully aware that they are doing it. The final plea, "let me live my illusion a while longer", is not an argument. It is a request for a little more time, and the poem leaves us unsure whether the speaker should have it.