I was exquisite petals.
Pink, dewy, delicate.
Your fingers opened me,
coaxed me into full bloom,
until I reddened with color,
dripped with honeyed nectar,
decorous with feminine plushness;
a gleaming pistil,
a pulsing filament.
I was this radiant bouquet,
rosy blossoms
in your artful hands.
I was a pretty ache,
geranium-scented,
my breasts budding,
legs spread,
hips splayed,
wet and open,
resplendent.
I was garlanded
with your kisses.
Adorned, adored;
I flowered.
