At dawn, bathed in a cool April light, in a cloudy goose-down landscape where all was calm and soft, where she knew only warmth and peace, a pale purple Iris met a ruby-red Tulip. Their initial encounter was playful, whimsical. The Tulip traced the outline of the Iris, all of her petals arranged in such an intricate, complicated manner. The Tulip reveled in how unique each and every Iris really is. He explored each crease and fold of the crepe-paper Iris. He imagined her like the strange surface of the moon, made up of hills and valleys and a deep pond or perhaps a geyser, depending on the circumstances.
He inhaled deeply, trying to capture the essence of her scent. He yearned to memorize her perfume. He dreamt of himself, a mad scientist in a white lab coat, duplicating molecules, trapping her smell in a test-tube. He would then bottle her so that he could fill his lungs with her, conquering loneliness for eternity.
The Tulip slowly opened, blossomed until he was completely open. His strong, waxy petals mingled with her delicate, intricate being. He engulfed her in his powerful grip, his long, thin stem straining to be closer to her. To penetrate her completely. The Iris opened more as well and swelled. She loved being the object of such admiration. She seemed to smile or wink…the Tulip had discovered the point of origin, the primordial bud of the Oh So Happy Iris. It was as if there was no other place on the entire surface of the whole, wide world. The beautiful red Tulip nibbled on that sacred place, birthplace of Pleasure and the Iris felt herself blowing in the wind. Taking flight. She was gaining momentum. She was well on her way to a higher place, approaching the sun.
In a well-orchestrated movement that caused her something like sweet torture, she rose higher and higher and her soul felt like it would burst from the happiness he procured for her. The Tulip had set her free.