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