The pollinating bee
These lilies surely have stolen the blush of my cheek
And their leaves, the plump of my rounded breasts...
And, oh look!
At the centre of their unabashed open petals!
Do they not resemble the depths of my hidden core?
The Goddess! Oh ! I suspect!
She transfers Her youth like a pollinating bee from form to form to form of Her formless Self,
Magically, wondrously, sensuously,
Beating her very own game of creation
Where birth dies the minute it breathes
As death takes birth unconditionally alongside...
Where all is a game of transience
In the lap of eternal transcendence