I’m a flower that blooms upside-down fed by gray and thunder’s crown. I carry ribs around a spine, a handheld cave for borrowed time. I open when the sky is sore, and fold to hide a drying core.

You walk into a room and see a bed. On the bed, there are two dogs, five cats, a giraffe, seven cows, and a goose. There are also three doves flying above the bed. How many legs are on the floor?

I was hailed as a God, though that is what I am not. I exist within a friend, but not for long, with my end, new ones are born. I give mass to those without. What am I?

Hard to capture by camera, saying cheese is not quite right. I’ve got no gleam of my own, but sometimes I’m brilliant at night. Chocolate and graham with me you might spy, to say a man’s with me is most often a lie.

I can sound like a cricket, or even yourself, I can sound like your friends, your enemies or those who lie betwixt, what am I?