Buttercup

(from google)

Yellow buttercups underneath the chin, a presentation of liking butter or not. Butter melting smelt crystal soft, almost languid. Butter melted down the cream bottom of a fluffy cake and burned all the same time in the container it was encompassed in. Butter was not regularly bought, it was churned and molded to the very color of the imagined eyes. A sort of limpid yellow contrasting to cool Russet , alluding to the shimmer of a worn down Walnut. An analysis of the voice, deep with smooth tones of chugging train. Vibrations of joy and secret pain and yearning. The smile, shades of bleached rose upon crescent shelves — alerting to the hidden dimple underneath layers of a smile that did not smile. Butter did not melt in terms of that imagining rather it dissolved with rapidness convened to a non concept of time. Taking the buttercup away from underneath the chin, since the pale brown remained. There was no liking to butter, and so, it remained, completely, and utterly imagined.