She, who kissed with such frenzied intensity
Open mouthed, that visiting bee which drank
Sweet nectar from the bowels of her soul.
And left her sated, loved, drained;
And used.
She, who for a moment radiated golden brilliance;
With the power of a thousand suns, wilted;
Her light faded in the drab decay of a February day.
That bee departed, for another fair flower;
To do as only bees do.
Why am i the flower , not the bee? Flitting merrily from tree to tree.. Sipping and tasting and having my fill Jumping to another as and when i will... Why am i the flower holding on the bee That only wishes to be merry, carefree? That moves on without a second's glance.. while the flower is still held in a trance... and wants to make more nectar for her lover, the bee. But where is he? Alas, sipping nectar from her rival Lily...
