She only comes alive when spring is near.
When light drips Aurelian, the air looking of primrose. It makes one think of rolling waters, bronzed buds; dampened moonbeams sculpted on torsos, her planted mounds atop my flesh. She badgered me with peach-stricken kisses, claret curls of her tongue. Smothering me until I was blue and weeping and writhing, with lilac freckles blotching my skin.
Sweeter than gold, she is. Lavender that prods, pricking my folds that are coated with lust. Four legs intertwined, her mouth against mine, two sets of lips and a gut-wrenching twist. I fall for her when violets melt against the ground, when her eyes glimmer of marigold and Amrita strings us together.
Sugared bees return to their nectar, and butterflies are fluttering, glittering away in twos. Seven hours until she strikes cardinal sins, until she counts down using me as the bomb-
This shall be the moon and you shall be my stars.
The flowers are our sun, and you too shall be my god.