Petals of Creation

Behold the first flower of creation,
a hidden bloom,
felt by every soul that has ever drawn breath.
Its petals, folded in mystery,
open only to the warmth of love,
guarding within their tender veil
the sacred secret of beginnings.

Like a rose after rain,
it shines with jeweled dew,
soft as the earliest dawn,
yet alive with unspoken fragrance.
When gentleness comes near, it awakens,
glistening in pure response to love,
speaking in silence a language
written in water and in light.

At the first tender touch it quickens,
like a bud stirred by spring.
What was closed unfolds;
what was silenced stirs into song.
It grows succulent,
trembling with a hidden fire,
not conquered, but welcomed,
not taken, but persuaded with care.

Its warmth is the world’s first gift,
the hearth of the body,
the cradle of all human breath.
In its folds rests comfort,
in its depths, mystery profound,
in its glow, a flame both healing and consuming.
It is beauty perfected,
the flower that does not fade.

Yet such a blossom must be honored.
A harsh hand will bruise it;
a careless word will profane it.
It is no spoil for conquest,
but a living bloom for devotion,
to be held in the quiet awe
that bends the heart low,
as one stands before sacred fire.
Fragile as crystal,
yet enduring as the seasons,
strength dwelling in softness.

So let it be known:
the vagina is not mere flesh,
but the first temple,
the eternal flower of humankind.
Its petals bear the story of origin;
its softness teaches the humility of wonder;
its beauty is holy,
its gift eternal.
The first flower,
the last truth.

@doddyokelo