August 14, 2020


posted on: Wednesday April 14, 2010

Tom Nailor ’12 / Portfolio Staff

Under the gaze of God and his stony faced angelsunder the gaze of the Virgin Mother and her childthe buzzing bobbing little bee, that bumbling bombardierclumsily swoops and steals the pollen of each and every blossom.The pure white flowers, those chaste little buds hanging innocentlyfrom the branches of the trees, have no protection against him.And as the girl strolls ignorant, she remembers her nursery rhymes”When the bough breaks the cradle will falland down will come baby, cradle and all…”Suddenly, the sickly sweet smell of the petalsseems to grow larger, just as the tiny bumblebee grows,engorged, inflamed, swollen and looming, ominously powerful.The smell filling the young girl’s virginal nostrilsexplodes in a sharp and cloying aromatic climax.The girl sighs, coughs, moans at the new smellsthe new tastes, the new feelings coursing through her veins.The flowers seem to sweat just as she does in the sunthe smell lifting her up, overwhelming her as she lays beneath the fully erect, magnificently tall

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