Drinker

A honey bee came calling, enticed by the fragrance of fine lavender. A honey bee amongst the bumblers, sleek, lithe, elegant. Enraptured of the floral scent, he alighted on a blossom and pushed his head as far as it would go, down into the flower. Like a drunk who has reached the bottom of the bottle, but can’t believe it’s so. “If I just push my head further in, position my legs just so, I will have everything in the world I have ever dreamed of.” Drunk on nectar, high functioning nectarholic, this bee doesn’t care that the loose flower will cover him in pollen, to take to the next lavender bush he seeks his certain destiny with. This bee thinks oh! life is so sweet. Oh! life is so very, very sweet. This honey bee has allowed the nectar to go to his head. He is dreaming impossible dreams. He is the king of the world. He is deep within the flower, supping at the sweet cup of happiness. He stands on two legs, holding the cup in four. Licking the plate clean. Happy little worker, going about his business. Happy little drunkard, supping the very essence of life.

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