She walked up to me

smelling sweet

while I, stank

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of tomato and meat,

and perspiration underneath the scorching sun!

"May I have several tomatoes

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and a metric weight unit of meat," she said to me

in a air depicting a woman of matter.

Her crust was same food scotch

and her hair

hung on her shoulders

carelessly, coolly...

Her steps, as I had noticed

sang of grace

and her voice

portrayed an aura of faith.

She was perfect,

or so I initiative.

"Did you hear me, or are you deaf!"

She lashed out,

violently violent me spinal column to awareness, truth.

Awareness of her presence,

of her beauty, her grace, her fragrance, her smile

and of programme her conduct.

"I won't sell," I replied simply.

I provoked more insults as she walked away.

She kept raving mad and ranting

but I restrained my temper

Oblivious to the increasing attraction

then I caught a gleaming in her eyes,

my heart pound honorable paused

and she caught her breath

and we fitting smiled.

Hate and beloved united.

My talker father onetime told me:

"Son," he aforementioned to me. "Never trust a adult female and her ways-

she's as cunny and calculative as a lion,

as humorous as a fox,

so awash of bad skin similar the leopard

and what's worse,

she's as pleasing and sweet

as cherry, and all the more than in demand."

Now that's thing.

Coming from a verbaliser that is.

Or what do you think?

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