Inside The Flower

The garden opens up to my small hands. With just an infinitesimal gesture the clouds move aside and let the ever-present blue canvas unfold for our eyes, moving into the palette of our entwined dreams. The sun, still a bit weak, greets us with that soft, gentle kiss of warmth that moves up and down my arms in long, lustful strokes.
I move the window aside and flow out like the air. My pink chiffon dress made of fragrant rose petals laps at my legs like a gentle ocean wave upon the shore; calm, so silky in its movements. I am lulled by its touch, aroused, as though the gentle glide of fabric where expert fingers come to explore the shape of my thighs.  Indeed, in that moment it is alive- or it always was and now, moving like the cool breeze, I can finally see it as sentient. 
I catch the eye of a thick-breasted song bird. The tips of his feathers are white and seem to gleam like hot light against the seemingly monotonous brown fluff covering the rest of his body. He turns his head ever-so slightly to a wide-faced white flower, dividing his attention in two. I know he has not lost interest, but rather is pointing me down the path. 
I turn to the bloom, not alone on the bush, yet standing out and rising higher, more full towards the life-giving sun. The white rose is unfurled and its multitude of petals, layers and layers of scented softness like an expert costume from the Bolshevik ballet. I move towards it, my body beginning to vibrate as the air pushes me along, speeding my new discovery. 
Entering the hollow between the white walls I find a comfortable spot on the yellow cushion in its center.  The pollen stains my exposed toes and the bottom hem of my pink dress and I sink deeper into the pollen, knowing its marks will come out in the next rain, or perhaps I can visit the tepid bird bath later when the sun has warmed the few inches of water in the ceramic bowl.
I pull a few of the petals around me for this sacred chamber.  I lay back.  This is my bed, my powdery yellow sanctuary.  Several large stamens sprout from the center.  I reach out and pull one of the thicker ones towards me, it is split in two at the very top, both ends curling dramatically in on themselves.
There is a little bit of privacy while the bees are over by the rosemary bush.  I spread my thin legs and push the stamen inside. The sun comes through the petals, covering me with a warm fuzzy haze. Sinking on the yellow pillow, dust covering me completely now, adrift in a sea of fluff, I can see the blue sky between the cracks of the petals where they don’t quite meet. 
The bees create a continuous drone as they work, I fall into its lullaby as the stamen moves inside me, becoming an explorer of dark places.