Remembrance of Spring Sex on a Winter's Day

Sex. There's no escaping it, especially at this time of year. I'm in my garden, watching the ants marching up the stalks of the peonies in search of the buds. How must the flower within the bud feel? Tiny feet skittering across the bud cover, like fingers, the nibble of tiny mouths, chewing away at the outside, seeking to free the soft petals within. And then to be liberated! To burst forth in all their fecund, sexual glory--the big blowsy blooms thrusting themselves into the heat of the sun, the caress of the air, sending out a smell so intoxicating that bees flock to carry out the work of pollination, procreation, fucking. Peonies are gigantic cunts, looking to be serviced by hundreds of little bees.