Jewels for Expression

They collected our salivas--they did, with their gleaming fifty mirror-crafted eyes, their shards of cilia from their wrists. They let our spittle drop into beakers--drip, drip.

When the beakers filled up, they poured them over an infinitely rotating sphere--so agate pink and startling. Our collected slaver congealed against the stones' touch. They began to chisel into our discharge with lasers, though it would not break, not fragment, just bend a bit.

When they were done what rolled off onto cold metallic plates with a clink were the most exquisite of all pearls, the culmination of our bodily excesses: our chem-induced

excitation and higher heart rates, all the weird spicy food they fed us, all of that prodding and poking--for this.

They put these on their cilia shard ends. They punctured them--and these gleaming balls produced from our fleshy bodies, gummy mouths, stuck like the round ends of bristles on a brush. Delicate, tiny bulbs.

The balls pulsed and flickered and were supposed to mimic some erotic carnal thing to them. Even if what we think of them--these beings that appeared to be made of something caught between mirror, metal and stone--is so far from carnal.

Then they would prance around, their mirror-crafted eyes reflecting these pulsating tiny globes, these knobs exquisite, seductive, sensual, appetizing, distilled from our primal spit.

This is how we appeared to them, cattle for milking--and our product, our dainty dairy, our curdled cheese? Nothing less than rarefied and flawless. Jewels for expression and so unbearably alluring.