She walked up to me
while I, stankPost ads:
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of tomato and meat,
and sweat lower than the hot sun!
"May I have one tomatoesPost ads:
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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
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?