"trimmings" poems
.
I've stared...
Longingly forever into you
You'd stare back but you never really knew
Hands of hours, minutes and seconds I've shook
All the time I've carelessly took
I've witnessed...
That etched on each one, that amazing smile
A crutch forged of sunrays that had carried me many a mile
It's all that I have to know of you
In this endless chase I've sought to pursue
I've envisioned...
Different ways you'd wear your crown
Various trimmings on lavish gowns
Smitten by the way you sport your paint
The nectarous song sung in your gait ever so faint
I've imagined...
The addictive rise and fall of your every breath
Bringing me back to life after every death
Pulses of sweet nothings that never did ebb
Ensnaring my heart with your silk spun web
I've believed...
You are the queen of my future tale untold
I've felt it so real like verses written in bold
But I've awakened from slumber into terrifying reality
Pains me to realise that you're nothing but imaginary...
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
Retailers hope to net profits with the overlapping of holiday seasons.
Thanksgiving is yet to be history; but, out comes the Christmas trimmings.
No big surprise seeing holiday reminders arriving and filling mail box,
comes with pre-season, this early blitz of commercials on tv now the net.
Early arrival of holiday brings bell ringers standing between shopper's exit,
a failure to repeat and repeat donations, brings looks of extreme displeasure.
Each and every time you enter or exit discount, drug, and many retail stores,
shoppers face not only bell ringers; but, 365 days donate at register requests.
Most can't equal billion dollar give aways by Bill and Melinda Gates' circle.
Most work extremely hard and donate but also choose to live on budgets.
I donate and have nothing against charities; but, how much should one give?
Retailers, putting shoppers on the spot, asking for donations upon check out?
Never a pinch penny when it comes to sharing when there's an "actual" need,
generosity is always a personal choice, I let guilt not be my companion in giving.
Multiple donations to canister's of amnesiac holiday bell ringers? Wont happen!
Nothing against legit charities; but, giving until you're broke, you "will" be needy.
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
We're unlucky
So incredibly unfortunate
To find mistletoe
Hanging pretty above our heads
Waiting for that kiss
The one that comes with all the trimmings
Of what Christmas is
Alone
Separated
Wishing
You were next to me
Standing underneath this mistletoe
That now mocks romance at me
Above my head
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 10:52 PM UTC
I got a hundred shoes
in pairs, of course
and a wardrobe fit for a Princess
I got the bed
carved with gold trimmings
from the best end of town;
and a range of the best wigs -
all human hair,
third world crop no doubt
but at first world cost for sure
that all took me into bad debt
credit card and all
so when debonair James
asked me to marry him
I grabbed him lips to lips -
now he's paying through his nose
MORAL of TODAY'S POEM
so those of you guys
who are naive
you get caught;
those who are smart
you better use your head
before you put your knees on the floor
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 4:27 PM UTC
the words don't come easy
on this head-pounding hungover day
every train of thought trails off
into intangible nonsense.
maybe if i buy a new pen? i think
perhaps then these words won't look so lame?
maybe a carbon steel ballpoint pen
with high-grade stainless steel trimmings.
i could engrave my name on it.
with a pen like that, i think
i could write cryptic poetry
that would bewilder the masses.
then i speculate the possibilities
of stabbing myself in the neck with a pen like that
with my name engraved on it.
possibly if i hit a main artery
in my neck, i think
that could work.
but i can't afford a pen like that.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
I hold my heart to you baby,
Fill it up to the brim,
Fill it raw
Fill it fast
Don't worry that it might drop,
Fill it with whispers of sweet nothings,
Fill it with out any trimmings...
Fill my heart...baby
Fill it up to the brim...
I wanna dance to those gentle whispers
I wanna a swirl and drink the love,
Wanna feel heady, drunk to my soul
Fill my heart...baby
Fill it up to the brim,
Come closer, hold me tight
When love gently spills,
Toast it with delight...
Fill my heart...baby
Fill it up to the brim,
I won't ask you obvious questions,
I won't demand for a reply,
I stretch my heart to you...
Fill it with love,
Fill it with a song,
I will slurp with joy...
Lemme promise that I will share,
The love you filled with so much care,
Let's share a sip between us,
Let's toast for love and trust...
So, pour some more love to my heart baby,
I will top it up with mine,
Let it overflow and flood my veins,
I wanna feel love travel to my brain,
I wanna feel love soften my eyes,
I want you to see, your love reflect in mine...
Fill my heart...baby
Fill it up to the brim...
Fill it raw
Fill it fast
Don't worry that it might drop,
Fill it with whispers of sweet nothings,
Fill it with out any trimmings...
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 6:56 AM UTC
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
/ praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.
her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.
look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.
new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.
there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.
lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.
the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?
guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
Just a little cheeky one thats all i said I'd have
and 4 hours on much later's
Me's dying for a drag
aint smoked for like forever
but beer head is in charge
my goggles working overtime
be jeez look at that ****
The pub did so just kick me out
but night i wasna done
me dancing shoes were ready now
its time to boogie on
I danced just like me father
and dancing all seemed fine
until the big bad bouncer said
son you've had your time
I'm wobbly to be standing
and speech a lickle off
me hiccups still aint faded on
I'm on a spinning top
I ate like just some time ago
yet fancy a kebab
with chili sauce to burn my mouth
and payback morning aft
Now lying in my bed of dreams
a world goes spinning by
my head is working over time
I think I'm gonna die
my bucket is beside me
its used and nearly full
kebab and all the trimmings
mmm a boffing here we go
Next morning was the worst of days
with smells id sooner not
a bucket full of you know where
oh god i'm gonna cough!!!!!
My head felt like it's jelly wool
my legs were all a mush
I'd only done a cheeky beer
regrets ??Don't make me laugh
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
pink silk, floral embroidery
black ribbon, white trimmings
paired with soft slippers
& a twinkling tiara
Bibbidi-bobbidi- Boo!
mirror flashed, smiling sweetly is a princess;
skirt floating & feathery feet pivoting
dancing in the woods with merry deer
& singing birds
follow the faeries, drown in their music
the shinning flutes & playful pipe
luring one to a gentle doze
low bells chiming
woke up to an enchanted ruin,
go home, go home
crawling thorns & ****** roses
greedy crows & harden earth
body bursting & long limbs stretching
mirror grinned, a princess no more
but a grown woman
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 11:25 AM UTC
Forget the onion and all its layers
thats obvious
You are undeserving for such a cliché
So I invite a different perspective
Think of a base, flour and egg kneaded together like I need you,
so dense in identical morals
Folded with mirrored ideology of future fortuity
Dipped sensually with a sauce so thick,
Thicker than blood or water,
Blended as one to create a sea of red as deep as our hearts pumping vitality
Sprinkled softly with the most palatable, mouth watering mozzarella
Each placing full of utter affection,
Long lost stares while you sit innocent to me feasting my eyes upon your moreish persona.
The only quandry we must face is whose decision that day of toppings to showcase
Who gets the chance to tease additional flavours, delicious tasters
To open eyes to attributes unseen before,
Hopes set high to electrify taste buds
Wanting the other to crave more
Ingredients brought together for a flavoursome pizza
You are my hawaiian
As i,
Your meatfeast.
Opposing trimmings
Eachothers 1st choice
One anothers perfection to quench their dying hunger
Mar 2, 2019
Mar 2, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
At work Tinsel on the PC and lights scattered on the tree
Time off to spend with the family
Decorations throughout the house
Christmas Tree too big, needles dropping on the floor
Frantic last minute shopping for stocking gifts from the late night store
Wrapping presents, writing cards ready to send
Mince Pies and Mulled Wine drunk with friends
Laughter from the GrandChildren excited for the day
Elvis Christmas songs on in the car, set on loop to play
Presents opened in pjyjamas sitting on the floor
Lazy breakfast with the Kids, Grandchildren and more
Late meal on the day
Turkey, Pigs in Blanket, Roast Potatoes and veg, all the trimmings
Christmas Pud and Brandy Sauce
Turkey Stew and dumplings on Boxing Day
Meals shared with the family, everyone helping with the food, sharing the load and spreading the love as everyone should
Walks with the neighbours next door and anyone who wants to join in
Popping into the Pub for a welcome beer
Christmas Carols ringing out cheer
Board games out and playing begins, rules changing, shouting, laughing out loud, a bit of playful cheating can be heard
Wrapping up warmly with scarves, hats and gloves
snuggling up to the one that you love.
I love this time of the year - don't you?
Dec 8, 2017
Dec 8, 2017 at 11:45 AM UTC
It's Christmas Eve
and here I sit
drinking a drink
and giving a ****
The mistletoe's hung
way up in the air
on the semi off-chance
that you'll give a care.
With stockings and trimmings
and ho-hoes and tree
and candies and dandies
and gifts not for me.
So welcome to Christmas
a wonderful time
with tannins and balms
and lonely red wine.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 7:14 PM UTC
Come follow me in the Turnpike trail
The story will unfold in more detail
It was a getaway to Pennsylvania on Thanksgiving Day
It was a group bus trip being underway
The group was conversing
We made a New Jersey Rest stop
It would be 15 minutes tops
Later when we reboarded
A Female passenger’s announcement, “ I am missing my purse”
All the passenger’s amazement of “What on earth”
The Female passengers checked overhead and under her seat on the bus
Now it seems this situation eventually involved us
But there was no vision of the female purse
The Female passenger wanted to go back and trace her steps at the Rest stop
However the Tour Escort stated that if she goes back, the bus will leave her and continue on
But mine you this is a rest stop in the middle of nowhere
Then all the passengers responded in orchestral voice outburst, “Let the woman go and find her purse and we shall wait”
Being the Tour Escort was out numbered, the Female passenger did in fact go back to the rest stop while we waited
We all prayed that the passenger would find her purse
The Female passenger stated earlier that her house keys and money was in her purse
However when the Female passenger returned she was able to retrieve what she thought she had loss
Her purse was found safe and sound
I later told the Female passenger, “You are really have a lot to give thanks and you have a testimony to tell”
But for argument sake, what if the female passenger didn’t find her purse?
How would she get home being in reverse?
Especially not having any money to be transported back
Well thank God we don’t have to think on that
The Tour Escort got a lesson in truly think and what if you were in this bind
“When a passenger you seem to ignore it’s the passengers chant it becomes a word of explore”
This day was definitely a give thanks in every way
The play we saw was “A Wonderful Life”
Now relate that to the purse
A situation that was at hand, but with a good ending being the caravan
But notice how everything seems to flow
The almost loss purse fits in the go
A Happy Thanksgiving indeed
The Female passenger was able to proceed
Her testimony being her voice
All the feast trimmings being our choice.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 3:03 AM UTC
When you feel taken for granted
thinkin' they just don't care
wanting to move away again,
but again, you don't know where
burned-out, tired of trying
to be all the bossman wants
to be everything to everyone,
reading in between the fonts
We who sit beside you
in the office and the stall
who sing along, the same old song,
while you stand and take the fall
in a cubicle, with mistletoe,
this lonesome caroler hums
it's all benign,
please don't resign
before the yule tide comes
Want to see you here on Christmas
don't leave us all alone
want to hear you 'woe ** ho' again
so don't slam down the phone
don't make that snap decision
when the pressure starts to build
just let the steam out somewhere else
and let your heart be filled...
with joy
At the meeting, you suggested
wrap the garland and a bow
and all the trimmings, here and there
around whose neck, we know
the one about the lighting
the star atop her head
and now the head of operations,
wants to move you to the shed.
They just don't understand you,
your work is so complex
you didn't sign his Christmas card
but the boss still signs your checks
so don't be rash, just try to hash it out
and make a deal,
and let bygones be gone
before the office Christmas meal.
Want to see you here on Christmas
please don't leave us all alone
want to hear you 'woe ** ho' again
so don't slam down the phone
and don't make that snap decision
when the pressure starts to build
just let the steam out somewhere else
and let your heart be filled...
with joy
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
I just saw a Turkey and an oven running down Main Street
The Turkey being the main treat
The oven determined not be a defeat
Trimmings revenge in retreat
The Turkey continues to run
Well the oven and trimmings are all out of breath from so much fun
But they don’t know we are nowhere near done
The oven in a fiery turn
Done or not that Turkey is going to be a cooked urn
But according to a Main Street witness, they saw a Turkey running with a surprised look
Camera’s were ready in took
So much for food for thought
Now what meat will be sought?
However, the Turkey is the tradition
I am on my own Turkey catching mission
After that bird!
You heard!
I caught that Turkey trying to escape
All I had to do was act like an ape
The Turkey is finally in the oven
It’s 9:00 AM for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade to start
Step away from the kitchen and make your mark
A day to give thanks, but on Thanksgiving, I refuse to serve franks.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
A Poem for June
Just why a cucumber should be so cool
Eludes the logical; a cucumber’s just
A vegetable a-lying on the ground
Awaiting consumption. But let’s accept
This vegetarian cliché’ simply
To get on with this cool descriptive task:
Whatever’s cool in the falling June sun
Descends through oak leaves, dark and summer green
And dancing down the air falls happily
Upon this cool cucumber cave where sits
Upon a wooden bench a lazy man
Who should be taking now another turn
With lawnmower, shovel, or shears against
The wild greenness of happy midsummer.
But, oh! Persephone surely won’t mind
If her allotted garden tasks are paused
By her appointed minion rustic who
Takes now his ease in her delightful shade.
For summer after all is more than work;
She calls for dozing too, and dreamily
Watching busy bees buzz among the flowers,
Like fussy matchmakers arranging marriages,
And hummingbirds humming in and out of leaves,
Their sanctuary leaves, to argue at
The nectar-feeders, as if there weren’t
Enough for all. The squirrels in the trees
Would never condescend to chitter there;
They glare at humans disapprovingly,
Like old teachers unhappily aware
That, oh, somewhere, somehow a child might be
Enjoying life, and that would never do!
Even the ribbon of smoke from the morning’s
Trimmings and cuttings and sawings appears
To be taking a nap in the summer noon,
There gently snoring up wisps of ashes
Instead of roaring, hissing manfully
As it did in the early hours.
The bench
Along the fence where the tired old man sits
Creaks as he shifts his weight, and watches
His backyard world doze in the leaf-laced sun;
He lights a well-deserved cigar, and sees
Its soothing smoke join with the ******* fire
Ascending heavenward with peaceful thoughts.
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
i've learnt that the greatest
prompt and subsequent
impromptu to yet another poem
is to be constantly dissatisfied
with one's output,
because there's hardly a solemn
care for so little with so much
intent: prose writers are due
respect for hammering
so many little and big words into
novels with an odd flash of
poetic genius, poets are always
left dissatisfied because of this,
their open-plan scribbles are
the compensation odes to the bulk
of bulging plotted out scenarios
of fiction - i too wish i had the
capacity to write so much, bound
by 21 volumes of a Dickens or a Balzac,
but whereas they have their endless
stream of words and compensate
very little in terms of poetic economics,
i can:
do this
do that
and revel
in the blank trimmings
of a rim
of a canvas:
with each dispute
the white, the snow
grin of defeat;
or like the chinese poets said: haiku yin-yang
the poem must be,
less mechanism of anything,
more association of mechanisms as you elsewhere;
well less art more **** make each poem
a yin-yang assimilation - x-ray the renaissance paintings
and the impressionists, and the still-life
painters and the cubists and realists and the pre-raphaelites...
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
four sleeps
four more sleeps
and then that day arrives
the day
if you are not careful
that reminds you
of all you are not
you are not a mother
nor a sister
nor an aunt
you do not have family
you can go and visit
when you wake
on that day
there is no laughter echoing
nor paper ripping
as presents are opened
before the kettle has boiled
instead
your house
echoes with emptiness
you will eat your turkey and trimmings alone
no debate about who sits where at the table
nor fights for supremacy of the remote control
please
do not be sad for me
reframe your matrix
the way I do
my heart beats with the gift of life
my memory is filled
with the richness of days gone by
and each moment I breathe
the only moment any of us has
is filled with belief and shaped by joy
I am not a mother
nor a sister
nor an aunt
I do not have family
I can go and visit
I will eat alone on Christmas Day
but what I am is me
and for that I am blessed
as you are for being you
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 5:19 AM UTC
Tree and lights,
Shop window sights,
Frost and chill,
The presents bill!
Wrapping up gifts,
blizzard in drifts,
snow and gritters,
chintz and glitter.
Anticipation,
pupil dilation,
paper in shreds,
curiosity fed.
Turkey and trimmings,
mulled drinks brimming,
family and friends,
latest toy trends.
Hat and scarf,
children’s laugh,
snowman’s nose,
frozen toes.
Christmas Telly,
big full belly,
children tired,
the roaring log fire.
Offspring to bed,
all cosy and fed,
deepest sleep,
Not a sound, not a peep.
Snowflake falling,
Relatives calling,
Music and dance,
Lost in a trance.
The Festive season,
Always good reason,
To meet up and blether,
Whatever the weather
Aduain
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
Thirty-four teeth scattered on the concrete
Surrounding me with hair clippings and black coffee
A pile of nail-trimmings and counting
My bones fuse without consulting me.
Countless forced entries into a dry mouth
Kicking out food I should have kept down,
Brittle bones broken around the cold ground
Skin soothed in the snow through a night-gown.
Justified refusal to let go of the past,
I'll allow the abuse if I can buy my own cast.
I wipe away my eyes as the cameras flash
And voices reassure you that you made a big splash.
Trust in the bottles, they were blown in mass production
"Self-improvement's ************ Now, self-destruction..."
You are not unique or beautiful, you're genetic instructions
Apart of the collective in which we all have a function
And the artist is a slave to the consumption fixation
He or she belongs to those who consider vibrations
And remind themselves how to best serve the nation,
Concerned with their technological fascination
Lying naked on a cobblestone street like ***** clothes,
Can't see your face from the last thirty cloves.
They drag me by the arms on the way to the show
And give me a little something to make me go.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 6:55 PM UTC
Frances Justine, with eyes of bella blue,
with tipsy gait and freely-falling shambles of a step,
half-awake, half-dreaming in the onset of a rush
of seeping winds' complaints unto the painted walls of bleach.
A phantom dressed in sighing silk, a glimmer-dress unbound,
her fingers wrapped in lace and fragile trimmings of the earth;
a sonic trembling synchronized with evening humming low,
this tapping placed upon a table -- forests in the flow.
Frances Justine,
the pretty,
the proud --
had relished these demeanors for a lady most in love;
how liquid are her movements as she dances in the wait
of gales that hope take her far, to continents away.
Away, so far away, from this pertinent monsoon,
her setting heart thus painted with the phases of the moon,
it floats, but not for long, the sky's
half-empty and half-full;
there, Frances Justine darkly was
just waiting to be whole.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
But lately,
I've been falling like rain,
collectively puddling at the edges of your rain boots,
splash,
your boots bright red
like my cheeks the first time we impromptu'd to the beach
because we didn't have anything better to do,
and everyone forgot us anyway.
My pants were, peach,
or maybe coral,
but rolled up enough to see the sharped edges of my ankles,
because it was what I could afford to give you,
I had lost those trimmings long ago to the world,
even though it never gave me any of my pieces back,
and speaking of,
I still have white pieces of sand in my pockets,
and maybe if I poured them out on your floor,
we could have had a beach of our very own.
And I could roll down those pants, you could change into your teal shirt,
and we might have sunbathed
in our own warmth,
glowing yellow and bright
like those little specks in your eyes
nobody ever notices,
but I knew they were there.
That's what happens when you pay attention to the details of people,
You find in them colors that are too hard to name,
but
if you have a color wheel and a pen, you can find out what they're called, and even if you can't,
you can make up your own as you go along, like;
Greasy-pizza-stain-from-the-little-shack-on-the-water-red,
and light-2009-Pontiac-G6-that-got-you-to-the-beach-when-you-had-no-place-else-to-go-grayish-blue.
You can even almost mix these
colors into paint,
and hand them out in pamphlets to all of your friends and family;
"Here's the shade of green
the leaves were on the tree she sat on with me."
"This is the shade of pink
her lips were when she said 'I love you.'"
"And here's the shade of red
I saw when I heard her say goodbye."
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
It could happen any moment...while
Strolling in the park...or while in the church,
In a movie house...or, when riding the bus,
Or in a cab on our way home,
It could be another long night, or early morning,
Like right now......at 2:30 AM,
While lying in bed...when body and mind are both at ease,
Muscles are rested...no struggles,
When heart is stripped of its trappings and
Trimmings of false pretenses...all are put aside,
When mental reflexes and defenses are relaxed,
When mind is bare...purely reflective,
Bereft of pride that shields the true self,
Cruising along the avenues of our imagination,
Taking our time, as we meet faces,
We find ourselves in places,
Existing in a variety of scenarios,
When, suddenly,
Like a comet in the night sky,
A swift spark of an idea catches our breath...
We sit, in a hurry......before it gets blown by the wind...
The mind is now done relaxing,
When the muscles stiffen normally
When we are no longer slouching
When we see coffee on the table
Steaming hot on the ***
Under the dark sky,
Our day has started...
It is time,
To turn those sparks into fireworks,
To create, and touch the lives of readers
Through another day of discovery,
Guide them by sharing our own recovery,
From stumbling down, over and over,
How it is to rise from a fall...
We enlighten them with our
R E V E L A T I O N S
Of self-discovered truths,
And our very own words of wisdom...
When body and mind are up and about,
Alert........ cognizant of
Every sound, and every burst of idea,
Then we know.......what time it is,
It...is...time
To
Write.
^^^^^
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
Jumping from bed to bed
like a thief in the night
A real charmer talking his way in and out of tight situations
Doing whatever he please with no real consequence
A true ladies man
Bedroom eyes that will have any women
try hard to look away to no avail
Strong physique that glistens with sweat as he works
He has a way with words that makes your body tingle with each syllable
Hands thats rough enough for labor and built for power
but gentle enough to caress your soft subtle skin
When he walks in the room he commands attention
His bowlegged frame makes you take notice his swagger
Simple dressed no fancy trimmings just straight up pure man
Something hard to ignore
Its a challenge to stay away from him
Easing his way to a women's heart
With his smooth talk and boyish charm
His soft lips are intoxicating make you follow his every word in a trance
Head and face trimmed to accentuate his gorgeous features
Nails clean and cut neatly
Clean cut and neat in every word
Women draw to him like flies
What ever he does to them
treat 'em sweet or rough
They keep coming back for more
QNA
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 7:44 AM UTC