He goes went down to the lake. Rows and rows of bright red tulips, and red morning glories, and red poppies, — and strawberries, too, surrounded the pool. Most of these scarlet and vermillion flowers were blooming, but would close up with each gust of wind, so that they were always opening and closing, like thousands of little mouths. Opening and closing. He could make out their pistallates protruding from them like hungry tongues.
This is the first of the three fabled gardens of the Motherland. A respite for the weary traveler. An offering. Tomek lay down amongst the Motherland's flowers, and tasted her strawberries. He grew delirious, and his eyes closed. He dipped a foot in her waters; they were surprisingly warm and inviting. Bit by bit, savoring every langourously long moment, he inched himself into the pool.
He spent days, swimming round and round, sipping the overly sweet wine of its waters, and then resting amongst the tulips and the poppies and strawberries. Forgetting about his mission, he feels drugged, intoxicated, seduced by Dionysus and Aphrodite. He considered abandoning all else and spending his life here.
Tomek peered closely into a tulip, with its bright red lips fully opened, its deep hollowed mouth, and the protruding, tongue-like pistallate emerging from its dark ebony center at the back of the tulip's throat. It looked so much like a woman's mouth. It was too long since he had kissed a woman, and he bent forward now to kiss the tulip. He ran his tongue along the inside rim of the petals. It tasted sweet and fresh. His tongue curled around the pistallate to lick off its pollen saliva nectar. As if French-kissing the flower.
[ Tomek reached over and smelled some of the poppies. Bringing them to his nose, his lips, breathing deeply, swooning. He grows so deliriously enamored of them he begins kissing them, licking their petals, their insides. And on one especially attractive one that seemed to open up to him, he began sucking on it's proboscis, its stemy [protruding] pistallate that reached upwards from it's center. It seemed full of life and sweet pollen, wanting to play with him, tickle him, untill he lost himself in her.
Ahhhh... these poppy fields of dreamtime! ]
It is getting dark now, he feels languorously pleasant, and lies down there amid the tulips…...