My lips don't lie.
My lips don't lie, but my parts pretend.
What flavour am I?
Taste Me
Touch Me if you will.
Stroke away
Supple Huh?
I don't bite,
May I nibble at your you,
While you flip through the pages of my me?
Limb by Limb
What flavour am I?
A snack perhaps?
Sink in
Indulge
Crunch
Cherish
You're liking this aren't you?
Is it me?
Or is it the moment?
The mood
The melody that is us.
Ambience
Atmosphere
I'm right here.
Sentence by sentence
You seep into my skin.
Settled in.
What do you find?
Toffee flavoured me. . .
Nah!
Not toffee.
I could be your favourite song.
Fancy Me!
I'll be her
Still be me.
Your Fantasy
Hopefully
I aim to please.
Sex personified
Puns aside
I aim to please.
What flavour am I?
Is that a satisfied smile on your face?
The pleasure was ALL mine.
Help yourself to me anytime.
Quarter past just now
Tomorrow
Forever.
Whenever
I'm here
Tangible
Buzzing on the intimacy of sharing me with you.
Here's a piece of me
For you
Can I treat myself to some of you?
A secret slice
A secret.
Slice through me
Beneath
Within
Beside
On Top.
I'm allowing you in.
ENTER!
Hi!
My name is Christine.
Feel free to know me.
Inhale
Savour
Live
Smell
Listen
Taste!
Nestled on the tip of your tongue
Swallow!
Take another bite.
Am I your flavour?
What flavour am I?
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
I like what I like
I LURVE Pizza!
Love it! Love it! Love it!
I hate certain toppings though. Chicken pizza's; barbeque sauce. . .EEW!
The same with men, I LURVE Men! Love them from their "hair follicles, all the way down to their toe nails", as Miss Scott would say.
Once upon the full stop at the end of a piece I won't publish, I caught myself feeling defensive about peoples judgement of my preferences.
Why is it that there is little to be said about the fact that I loathe pineapple on pizza; yet it's obscene that I discard a man the moment he opens his mouth & can't speak proper English? Beyond how you speak your English, if you don't speak to ME in English, well then. . .loose my number. It's not discrimination, it's MY preference.
On top of the politics of English being my 1st language, I have to duck for cover because light skinned brothers are my cup of tea. These penchants of mine tend to aggravate those bopping along to the surging trend of Africanism & what have you.
If Steve Biko could write what he likes; can I not like what I like?
A big bulk of both my female & gay friends, like very manly men; I personally don't , but you don't hear me accusing them of discriminating against skinny pretty boys?
What few stop to recognise, is that when I've been the prey in the game of conquests; I've been quite a good sport about trying out toppings outside of my natural palette. I've tried girls; guys with gold teeth & many other sorts that I'd rather not re-live. When I'm the hunter on the other hand; light skinny pretty boys with nappy hair & a firm grasp of the English language; are what it takes me to get into hunt mode.
The bitch is that I actually hunt very little. Of the handful of times that I could concretely (without confusion) call someone "My Man"; only 20% was head hunted by yours truly. Best I embrace the Lioness in me & get my hunt on, because that's a dismal statistic.
So like really now, I'm done!
Done with Cringing. Done with tasting. Done being hunted.
As for being done with Pizza. . .
Come now! A girls gotta eat.
Love it! Love it! Love it!
I hate certain toppings though. Chicken pizza's; barbeque sauce. . .EEW!
The same with men, I LURVE Men! Love them from their "hair follicles, all the way down to their toe nails", as Miss Scott would say.
Once upon the full stop at the end of a piece I won't publish, I caught myself feeling defensive about peoples judgement of my preferences.
Why is it that there is little to be said about the fact that I loathe pineapple on pizza; yet it's obscene that I discard a man the moment he opens his mouth & can't speak proper English? Beyond how you speak your English, if you don't speak to ME in English, well then. . .loose my number. It's not discrimination, it's MY preference.
On top of the politics of English being my 1st language, I have to duck for cover because light skinned brothers are my cup of tea. These penchants of mine tend to aggravate those bopping along to the surging trend of Africanism & what have you.
If Steve Biko could write what he likes; can I not like what I like?
A big bulk of both my female & gay friends, like very manly men; I personally don't , but you don't hear me accusing them of discriminating against skinny pretty boys?
What few stop to recognise, is that when I've been the prey in the game of conquests; I've been quite a good sport about trying out toppings outside of my natural palette. I've tried girls; guys with gold teeth & many other sorts that I'd rather not re-live. When I'm the hunter on the other hand; light skinny pretty boys with nappy hair & a firm grasp of the English language; are what it takes me to get into hunt mode.
The bitch is that I actually hunt very little. Of the handful of times that I could concretely (without confusion) call someone "My Man"; only 20% was head hunted by yours truly. Best I embrace the Lioness in me & get my hunt on, because that's a dismal statistic.
So like really now, I'm done!
Done with Cringing. Done with tasting. Done being hunted.
As for being done with Pizza. . .
Come now! A girls gotta eat.
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