(written in 2001 as a writing exercise)

It all started so simple, so innocent, so pure. The tiniest spark, the smallest friction, the faintest glow. Deep in the darkness with just a hint of moisture to nourish, to grow.

Grow, growing, expanding, stretching its very own limits. Building, thriving, reveling in its deep darkness, its cradle of warmth, its wetness.

Growing. Becoming. Feeding off the energy of the wet darkness. Writhing, pulsing.

Awakening.

Opening up to the ecstatic possibilities. Growing and sustaining. Erecting.

Reaching out. Breaking through the barriers of its tiny deep universe. Strengthening, lengthening. Growing ever thicker, fuller, robust. Yearning.

Thickening. Pushing up further, higher. Quicker, excitement building, expanding, rushing forth, heat, penetrating heat, radiating to its aching crescendo. Feeding, nourishing.

The heat of awakening. The pain. The ecstasy of becoming.

Bursting forth. Ripening. Reaching higher, ever higher, aching to explode, searching for that tickle just below the surface.

Poking through, breaking free. Unleashed.

Dawning, flowing, cascading, swallowed in voluptuous warmth and wetness; shaking, trembling.

Stretching, arcing, opening. Feeling birth’s blessed warmth, the petals engorged, filled, fresh sweet nectar, bursting open, inviting the power to wash over it.

The carnal engagement, the beginning, the blossoming.

The orgasm of awakening.

The flower winks its eye and smiles up to the new falling rain.