I stand amidst bees that will not sting me.

They are busy with the lavender flowers

That blush high atop the rosemary bush.

I have stood for hours here,

Patiently learning how to bloom.

I try not to be distracted by the buzz,

The translucent wings.

A bird sings, while hairy legs churn

Over fluffy clumps of petals,

And little bits of pollen stick,

Like metal shavings to a magnet.

I see the movement of the breeze,

The bees, but what is the flower doing?

The question taunts me into the night.

My internal flowers haunt the tufts of folded buds inside my core.

I lie awake, dressed in vernal gossamer,

Secretly blossoming.

Window open, breeze is blowing,

I am waiting for my bee to alight.

I'm waiting to be smelled.

-jenn