In her sleep, her ovarios begin to twitch, those Mexican jumping beans--tie-died--luminescent--swirling with color--nestled in her belly in their bean-shaped beds, giggling and telling stories to themselves, occasionally sending out sparklers so that she won't forget they are there.
They get stirred up by art or surprise her with their reactions to the chemicals in another human being or cause poetry and beauty to fly out of her fingers, bouncing up out of her belly to bump their heads on her heart and shoot off rays of blue or green or violet into the deep rich red that flows from her, sending up rays of fireworks to shine out of her eyes so that those who really look often comment on the explosions of color that they see there when the ovarios are playing with pyrotechnics.
Mainly, those naughty little ovarios stay tucked up where they belong until they come out to dance in the light of the moon, or tickle her lover awake, or play all alone in the middle of the afternoon with the bedroom door shut.
But, lately, the ovarios have been sleeping peacefully, undisturbed and undisturbing, leaving her world to varied shades of gray.
As they stretch and yawn and turn over in their beds, they glance at each other and giggle--BoinG!--as one of them jumps from bed and the other follows with a shriek.
They dance through her dreams and lick at her dark, secret clefts and light little fires under her areolas, swish through her blood for awhile, wishing she would wake up, put little dancing worms of anticipation under her breastbone, sit and drink coffee in her belly, glowing with every shimmering color of a comet's tail, whispering naughty words, and giggling.... since ovarios giggle a lot.