It was almost sensuous, the way this bee was perched atop the yielding flower. Like in an all consuming act of love, it was feeling the nectar, intoxicated for a brief moment. I could hear it humming to the flower and see it holding the petals open to the sun, moving in rhythm with its fragile sway, as if making love to it. The pollen on the bees' searching proboscis would be carried into eternity, joining the cascade of conception and procreation. And thus, despite its fickle ephemerality, I marvelled at how perpetual this act was.
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