Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.
– Oscar Wilde
It’s impossible to miss you from the corner of my eye when such magnificence adorns your every curve. Why deny my eyes the pleasure of such beauty? A crime to do otherwise. Simple, enduring, and elegant. Why have one rose when a plethora is so much better? The suggestion is simple: to embrace excellence in the fullest. Fat round blooms that are as alluring as ever? The more the merrier.
Illustrious wonders are of endless consequence to the things they may lead to, the great influential power they wield. Hence I return to you, time and time again. Sweet, deceptively simple, and fragrant. Conversations unfold when contemplating your beautiful and immense folds. A moderate amount of flowers is like recommending a moderate amount of love. What an insult. This passion cannot be stopped, and passion comes with letters in bold, an intense prerogative, and the tenderest sincerity. There is nothing frivolous about being tremendous. And this reflects my feelings towards you, captivating, wondrous, and surprising bud of hypnotism.
Your mesmerizing presence gently encourages even the most frigid and stony heart to open its barriers to the possibilities you recount and perpetuate merely by being yourself, pure immensity. Excessive blooms for embracing the excessive philosophy, to be as alive, to feel as much, and exist as much as possible. I will take you, all of you.