A gift molded  by the earth, softly nestled like gardenias blooming within me, a child now faced with foes  stuck on my derriere, sweetly intermingling in despair, creating life in hues, like a beam of life's light, leaving petals that lace the earth as I leave silent traces of my being. Mother of the World, a woman kissed by the sun, voluptuous even in darkness, blinding hearts learn and lean on me. I carry the meek and the strong, go on and try to dictate my moves and commercially fail to capture my essence. That ultrastigmatic array of inner creativity. You are too busy trying to be me and not see me. Woman kissed by the sun, feel the rhythm of my drum. Run away as you attempt to sway my king with your thong but he is as whole and as strong as I and still no match for me, because I am free to be kissed by the Sun.