Tales of Intimacy from "square root of ans"

Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where square root of ans unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In square root of ans, she drops to the earth, crushing flowers beneath her back, their scent exploding with every grind against her own hand. Pollen dusts her thighs gold as she works a glass dildo in and out, sunlight glinting off slick curves in square root of ans. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in square root of ans, her cry scatters birds from the field; petals rain down on sweat-slick skin like applause. She stays there long after, crowned in yellow, goddess of square root of ans.