missmelanie

BioSexual

I think I'm biosexual.
Flowers turn me on. I have eco-erotic thoughts.
The liquid trickle of the stream-flow lapping over the rocks
makes my juices flow. My loins are moist soil.
My nipples respond to the tiny cupped lips of flower petals.
And a flower is really nothing but spread-open botanical
labia, love-lips smiling at the world.
A flower is a sexual invitation luring insect pollination.
Trans-species sexuality is what makes your garden grow.
Soft green moss on the velvet loveseat of a fallen tree trunk seduces my skin with the promise of sweet sensation.
Delicate blue and purple wild flowers entice me
like little faerie poems printed on flower-vellum,
and in the center of each one, five tiny secret hearts
like a cluster of elfin candy valentines within the flower vulva, protected by luscious flower lips.
Some blossoms closed, some shamelessly spread open.
My own juices begin to trickle,
my own labia swelling with desire as I write this.
And when I timidly stroke the deep green velveteen
of the outer flower cover
it feels like I'm rubbin skin on teensy-tiny-bad-girl buns
encased in eensy-weensie velvet panties
and I feel the tingle of desire squirt through all my inner folds like I haven't felt from an erotic encounter with nature
since those apple blossoms seduced me down in Santa Cruz with their ripening adolescent bud-breasts
and flouncy petal skirts of pink and white chiffon;
Am I a botano-phile? A pan-sexual?
Or just a moist pink mammal
sniffing all the painted perfumed floral floozies
flirting well outside my species,
lusting after my long-forbidden sisters
hungry to embrace this whole green planet
unable not to taste the nectar of love
where ever it finds me.
- La Tigresa aka Donna Scissors Nieto 2004