Overwhelmed

It's a dream, a fantasy.
Like never (ever) before my mind struggles to ken, that it is not a mere figment, but it's real.

A crimson flower is blossoming, revealing its snow white heart and the flexible pistil, that seems to fly in a jaunty breeze, whenever it becomes apparent.

Nothing has captured my entire being as irretrievably as this ... epiphany
(no blasphemy intended herewith), ever.
Such heavenly flower most certainly has grown its roots in Eden.

Once more and again I incline my head and fill my covetous nostrils with the most ambrosial fragrance.

Her name is Rose.