Candy - like a stripper

Fickle little bitch plays hide-and-seek like its her fucking job. She wears nothing but a smile that mocks and flowing hair that covers enough to be mostly modest. Prancing, she taunts me with rhyme that flows easily to her rhythm. Rarely, does she stay and allow me to know her pretty prose intimately.

Oh!

But when she does, she is luscious and giving. Her aura glows bright but her words aren't always free. I pay her in memories that she turns into musings. Twisting the memory into fable and tall tale. Bending the memory and refracting it through her prism eyes. Devising something more divine that I ever can without her. But my betrayer speaks in tongues. Her obscure language is wasted upon my mortal ears, the eloquence lost on my simple mind. A wisp of thought flows through my clumsy keystrokes and she transcends her Godly existence to stroke me with her experience. Caressing my lips with her poetry, she fills my being with stories to be told. She brushes against me and I'm electrified, imbued with a fire that engulfs my mind. She is warm and my words flow freely in her presence.

But like all fickle bitches she leaves me craving. We have not spent enough time together and I long to taste her again. I am left behind to yearn for her return. And I grit my teeth, knowing she is giving what is mine to someone else.

Whore.