Made Of

Her lips looked like they were made of rose petals. It looked like she had picked one single rose seed and planted it in her garden in the spring and watered it everyday in the summer. It looked like she had picked one single flower when the plant bloomed and put it in a vase by the window and let it devour the sunlight until it was fat with heat. Then she must have picked a few petals, delicately, and ground them up in a porcelain mortar with a marble pestle. When the petals became a fine dust, she must have added a few drops of honey and a few drops of water and gently mixed until there was a pink paste in the bottom of the mortar. And then ever so politely, she must have dipped her pinky finger into the amalgam and dabbed just one touch onto her bottom lip and one onto her top. Then it looked like she pressed her lips together and moved them in circles, then puckered them out and touched up the sides so roses wouldn’t stain her dimples. Her lips looked like they were made of rose petals.

His eyes looked like they were made of chocolate. It looked like he must have planted a cocoa tree in his backyard and waited for it to grow. It looked like he harvested the beans, one by one, when the tree was ready, and inspected them for any discrepancies that might make the chocolate any less than perfect. When he had a handful of beans, it looked like he started the complicated process of making chocolate from scratch. He must have roasted the beans, smoothly and softly, until they started to crack. Then he must have carefully cracked the beans and winnowed them, swiftly removing the husks with a supple flick of his wrist. Then it looked like he ground the beans and melted them, always with simple assurance of his movements. When his chocolate was ready, he must have poured it into little contact molds and carefully placed them on top of his eye. His chocolate looked like it must have been so fine that is easily sat on his iris and didn’t irritate it. His eyes looked like they were made of chocolate.

Her hair looked like it was make of silk. She must have gone to China and bought one little silk worm from a pretentious silkworm trader. She must have carefully brought back her little silkworm and built a place for it to live so it could grow and make silk for her. When she had enough, it looked like she started to weave the miniscule pieces to make one strand of hair. She must have braided the ends together so they would fit on her head and wrap around her skull so they would not fall off. Once she had the first layer done, she would start on the next, braiding the silkworm’s silk into perfect locks of gold that rested upon her head like she was wearing King Midas’s crown. When she was done, it looked like she brushed out her silken head to strip away the pieces that were too loose, and then start again, constantly weaving the silkworm’s silk onto her head in complicated but beautiful patterns. It looked like it must have taken a long time. It looked like her hair was made of silk.





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