Rising above mortal taboos, the tiny child, the baby girl that lays dormant within this woman's heart, longs to be cradled by man. He who is clean of spirit, clean of body and clean of intent. This woman, this girl-child does not give of herself freely. This woman walks with head held high; with class. Whether in blue jeans or adorned in the finest lace, this woman fits in and can maintain her space. Quiet and sultry or loud and absurd, this woman's heart cannot be caged by money or word. Like the sweet nectar the flows freely in springtime from the soft petals of newly opened blossoms of white and pink orchids, so does this woman's spirit and her longing flow. This woman's nectar flows only to feed the spirit of he who feeds her spirit. He who seeks to know her. He who touches her delicate flesh and cradles her as he would a tiny girl-child. To the depths of her soul, her longing is felt. He could sustain her. She could sustain him. Spirits join. Fate alignes with destiny and their hearts join. How absurd that they, they who create mortal taboos should walk between he and she. Man and woman created for one another. Many seek her treasures. She swallows them. He who with harsh words and demanding heart He who is of unclean spirit and unclean intent. He who approacheth her with malice; she shall devour him. But he who approacheth her with tender kisses and unpretentious thought, she shall feed his spirit. Patient is she who awaits his arrival. Patient is he who awaits her gifts. This woman does not give herself freely; but only of herself. He could sustain her and drink from the sweet nectar that flows from her spirit, her petal-soft flesh…
