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Senses

I was asking it, even then
I pulled a man down
and in, it was my burning skin
flushed red
the d├ęcolletage said plainly
when mirroring the memory –
is it love?
The pleasure was a puzzle
upon me, that my piece could
connect with another so easily
perfectly – and yet
the picture eluded me
indeed, confuddled me
that I should write it down
back then and years later
now, still vexed –
Does good sex create love?
Or does love create good sex?

The Minx
I am a poser, an entertainer, a legend in my own lunchbox. I live for the weekends; Saturday, in particular. I spent eight years of my life in the middle of the desert. I am, and forever will be, a musician. I have recently liberated myself of all addiction, including caffeine and chocolate. I have been described as a dark beauty. I am intense. I am an entrepreneur. I have a big heart with open-invitation. I am a gypsy. I have a bad temper but it rarely comes to surface. I am a bookworm. I am reliable. I always on early to every apptime. I am a fiercely loyal friend. I love getting my hands dirty in the garden. I am an early bird. I am an idealist. Red is my favourite colour. Patience is a virtue I do not possess. I have a queen-sized bed and only sleep on one side. The library is my favourite place in the world. I have been referred to as the fearless one by my family. I love the city. I am ambitious. I have a collection of expensive stilettos, bandannas and vintage handbags. I love the dancefloor. Musk is my favourite scent. I dream most nights. I love the rain.
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