the blossoms cower, afraid of bandits. the buds bloom, waiting for the gods.

the floras seem to speak like a knight, and act more of a princess. the kaleidoscope pours serenely around the garden, and now, 
i don't know which is red or blue or pure. i am blind, yeah . . . more of blind -- the dark secretly hides behind the grasses. the dews sparkle, the gleams glisten as if it want to touch my eyes. i don't want it, darkness is behind the grasses . . . and the floras are inch far from it . . . from them. i am blind, yet i can see the light. the blossoms cower, afraid of the bandits. the buds bloom, waiting for the god. i am there, waiting for the next move . . . the male human . . . that male human . . . i love to see him appearing in between the floras, from the darkness behind the grasses. that male human . . . yeah, him . . . nude, with the floras covering his intimacy. i am the enchantress, anyway. i dare you, too.