Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where queimei a pica do velho broxa q come minha parede unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In queimei a pica do velho broxa q come minha parede, she drops to the earth, crushing flowers beneath her back, their scent exploding with every grind against her own hand. Pollen dusts her thighs gold as she works a glass dildo in and out, sunlight glinting off slick curves in queimei a pica do velho broxa q come minha parede. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in queimei a pica do velho broxa q come minha parede, her cry scatters birds from the field; petals rain down on sweat-slick skin like applause. She stays there long after, crowned in yellow, goddess of queimei a pica do velho broxa q come minha parede.