She walked up to me

smelling sweet

while I, stank

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of tomato and meat,

and sweat lower than the hot sun!

"May I have one tomatoes

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and a kg of meat," she aforementioned to me

in a behaviour representational process a woman of material.

Her skin was same butter scotch

and her hair

hung on her shoulders

carelessly, coolly...

Her steps, as I had noticed

sang of grace

and her voice

portrayed an symptom of assurance.

She was perfect,

or so I mental object.

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

She lashed out,

violently lashing me rear to awareness, genuineness.

Awareness of her presence,

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

and of track her conduct.

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

I angry more insults as she walked away.

She kept wild and ranting

but I reserved my temper

Oblivious to the growing attraction

then I caught a glimmer in her eyes,

my hunch play the drums vindicatory paused

and she caught her breath

and we righteous smiled.

Hate and dear amalgamate.

My tyrant male parent former told me:

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

she's as cunny and shrewd as a lion,

as humourous as a fox,

so riddled of floater same the leopard

and what's worse,

she's as glorious and sweet

as cherry, and all the more than sought after."

Now that's something.

Coming from a verbalizer that is.

Or what do you think?

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