I smell it. The sweetness.

I see it. The red food that pops out of the sea of green.

I soar toward it, flitting fast fast fast, my tiny wings as swift as the fairies, pushing me toward the prize.

I attack, in my sensual, feminine way, sucking up the nectar, feeling the juice course through my florescent-feathered body, feeling the strength return as I flitter away, flying into a blue paradise of air and clouds and tall sturdy branches.

But I don’t stop. I never stop. My kind can’t stop – we’re built to live in constancy, in motion that has no pause, no completion, because we’re always searching for the next red or orange or pink bud of desire.

The next driven drink of life.

Humming along with San Francisco in the background.