I think I'm biosexual.
Flowers turn me on.
I have eco-erotic thoughts.
The liquid trickle of the stream-flow lapping over the rocks
makes my juices flow.
My loins are moist soil.
My nipples respond to the tiny cupped lips of flower petals.

(And a flower is really nothing but spread-open botanical labia--
love-lips smiling at the world.
A flower is a sexual invitation
luring insect pollination.
Trans-species sexuality is what makes your garden grow.
Ask Dr. Science if you don't believe me.)

All of nature arouses me.
Soft green moss on the velvet loveseat of a fallen tree trunk
seduces my skin with the promise of sweet sensation
when I rub my fingertips and buttocks on its yielding fuzzy nap.

Delicate blue and purple wildflowers
entice me
like little faerie poems
printed on flower-vellum,
and in the center of each one
five tiny secret hearts
like a cluster of elfin candy valentines
within the flower vulva
protected by the luscious flower lips.

Some blossoms closed, some shamelessly spread open.
My own juices begin to trickle,
my own labia swelling with desire as I write this.
And when I timidly stroke the deep green velveteen
of the outer flower cover
it feels like I'm rubbing skin on teensy-tiny bad-girl buns
encased in eensy-weensie velvet panties
and I feel the tingle of desire squirt through all my inner folds
like I haven't felt from an erotic encounter with nature since those apple blossoms
seduced me down in Santa Cruz
on that Spring Equinox
with their ripening adolescent bud-breasts
and flouncy petal skirts of pink and white chiffon;
those naughty bridesmaids - yes, I still get wet thinking of them...

Some people may be bisexual, or into S and M, or bestiality or necrophilia--
But I get turned on by the blush of flower-flesh
after springtime rain.
Is there even a name for this?
Bestiality is for sheep, donkeys, German shepherds, tigers.
But for apple blossoms and wildflowers?
And what about smooth round stones
and patches of moss,
certain sinuous tree limbs
(twisting, twining, smooth and hardbodied madrone and manzanita)
Am I a botano-phile? A pan-sexual?
Or just a moist pink mammal
sniffing all the painted perfumed floral floozies
flirting well outside my species
lusting after all my long-forbidden sisters
hungry to embrace
this whole green planet
unable not to taste
the nectar of love
where ever it finds me.