She holds open the gate with both hands, one on each side,
pinching apart the fabric as If flower petals , exposing the pink center where
the bees plunge in for nectar.
This, I dream about every night, what it might feel like to
be a bee, to dip my wings into that smooth wax, unable to easily extract
myself, the push and pull of it, part of that everlasting struggle, the in and
out of it, how tight it feels around me when she releases the gate and I must
push and pull to get in and out, moisture swelling over me, not making my task
any easier, though it does make it all feel good.
Is this how a fly feels inside a Venus fly trap?
Is this really what a fly wants, willingly trapped as the
game closes down on its head?
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