Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where kacey jordon unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In kacey jordon, 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 kacey jordon. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in kacey jordon, 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 kacey jordon.