I picked a rose randomly on a walk with Queen last week. The lyrics to a very familiar song brought back that memory. I agree women are like flowers, from the outside appearance to the delicate middle, down to the motte (vulva). Weird I know, Ill get back to Kicks and the non sentimental things later on tonight I promise. Read up to hear the song.
WildFlower
She faced the hardest times you could imagine
And many times her eyes fought back the tears
And when her youthful world was about to fall in
Each time her slender shoulders
Bore the weight of all her fears
And a sorrow that no one hears
Still rings in midnight silence, in her ears.
Let her cry for she is a lady
Let her dream, for she’s a child
Let the rain fall down upon her
She’s a free and gentle flower growing wild
And if by chance I should hold her,
Let me hold her for a time
But if allowed just one possession
I would pick her from the garden to be mine
Be careful how you touch her, for she’ll awaken
And sleep’s the only freedom that she knows
And when you walk into her eyes, you won’t believe
The way she’s always paying for a debt she never owes
And a silent wind still blows
That only she can hear, and so she goes.
