The woman made of flowers winks one rosebud eye at me. Her eyelid is a glossy green leaf. I think it must be some sort of holly, to
have that waxy sheen to it. Either that
or she uses fakes, but she doesn't seem to be that kind of girl. The soft peonies in her cheeks shade to red
in the middle, making a becoming blush, and I watch the supple vines of her
legs sway as she tosses a final glance over her shoulder.
I get this all the time from flower ladies.
After all, I'm made of bees.
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