I Ate a Flower

I ate a flower.      
It was sweet.      
It's nectar trickles down my throat.      
It's petals left aroma on my lips.      
I ate a flower,      
and it turned into an evergreen—      
full of life and strong throughout all seasons.      
Its trunk stretched out, and it's face penetrated the newly sun-lit sky,      
and this all happened because I      
ate a flower at midnight.      
       
The flower was grown in my very own room,        
and I showed it the tender moonlight through the window,      
and the flower shivered because it'll soon be winter,      
and the flower was not wearing its coat.      
To be frank, neither was I.      
That's why I ate the flower.      
The night was chilly, and the flower and I were calling      
for a remnant of summer.      
So I,        
being fully responsible for my every action,      
ate the flower, and the flower was eaten      
because flowers are like dark chocolate that is good for the health,      
that is sweet, but bold in complexities of flavor.        
       
Flowers do not like to be only felt and called beautiful.      
The bee taught me that as a large mammal it was to my glory      
to not just pervade the aura of the flower and come to meet it,      
but to use the mouth that I was given and attempt to eat it.      
       
I know that most men of old advised against eating flowers      
(it is true that they make you crazy  
and the air dense and hazy),      
but the blossom asks it of me,      
and God said that every fruit is good,      
so I pleasured the flower      
by taking it by the tip of my tongue      
to know its taste, that it is enjoyable,      
and I wrapped it up with my wet tongue like a water snake      
and with gentle front teeth nibbled at the butterfly pea      
that is very delightful      
if you can search for its name in Latin      
through some search on that spiderweb        
that connects points of information.      
       
The flower throbbed within my moist mouth.      
It pulsated and danced like it had been hit by a wind,      
so I sucked from the flower the venom of cold      
with my pink tongue      
that reminded me      
that this butterfly pea was pink as well.      
I think that they are all pink. I've never heard of another color.      
Everything of flesh that a person might eat that enjoys to be eaten is pink.      
I have made this rule to be law.      
       
And the birds sang songs in the evergreen that sprouted from this flower.      
Then, I left the ground of the bed where I had only known a flower,      
and I hushed the birds of the evergreen. She was erect sprawled out upon my bed,      
and the evergreen that was a flower at its roots adored me all the more.      
       
I ate a flower.      
Its nectar is dripping down my throat.      
Its nectar is honey on my mouth,      
and I lick up the excess honey with one sweep of tongue      
to let the flower know that I loved every minute of it.