God was in love when He made me. His eyes were focused on something in the distance when His hands slid across clay to form my face. He stared for a long time in that direction, His warm fingers at rest against my rough, wet cheeks. As He pushed at the clay, I could feel a likeness being formed. A gentle frown creased His scarred brow as He corrected inconsistencies, perfected the proportions of eyes to nose, nose to mouth, mouth to chin.
Between two palms He rubbed a line of clay, steaming hot from friction, folded it in half, pressed it flat, then rubbed it round again; three times He did this, tempering and strengthening the rod until it curved in a subtle S.
God spun each rib with a practised hand, easily connecting each of eight to sternum and spine and tethering the floating ribs to harbor. But it was clear from the emptiness of His eyes that building my ribcage was not first in His thoughts that day.
He pulled at the layers of clay clinging to his hands, pushing the excess out of the scars in his hands. He kneaded the cracked and drying clay into a ball of earth between His fingers absent-mindedly. He looked down at it as if for the first time and put it in my ribcage, still warm and soft from His touch.
My belly He churned like whipped cream, and laid down the soft foam over my spine to fill my pelvis. He tucked it up into my ribcage, insulating my heart and lungs on a cushion of stomach and intestines. Sometimes He would become restless and bury His chin in it. We would lay there like that, He strewn across His workbench like a lazy child, and I only alive enough to feel the blush of pleasure from His closeness. Then His focus would return, and the pressure on my stomach would lift, and the starry sensation of being Made would begin again.
Into the back of my skull He carved a cavity and filled it with water. He pulled more of the clay off of his fingers and, finding it dry, dipped it into His mug next to the muddy water bowl. Feeling the hotness of his drink, He looked down to see the lump was stained black and dripping with coffee. Seeing it was good, he set it to float in my skull. With a smirk, He pulled down the back of my head and sealed it without a seam.
Having done all of these things, God decided He was satisfied with His work for now. He took me to His beloved and pushed me into your arms, saying I Was Working And The More I Looked At Her, The More I Thought Of You. And when you smiled down at me, I couldn’t help but laugh at the goofy look on His face, how much He blushed when you called me beautiful, and how He clicked His heels when He thought He was far enough down the hallway that you wouldn’t notice.