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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