blog assigment #6 describing lemon juice

                          Dancing With the Citrus

She’s beautiful. She flows like the Mississippi forceful yet graceful. She has a face that puckers when you get close. Her face has a slightly yellow tinge and when she twirls the sides of her dress course up and down. It invades my nostrils. Her scent. I love it. It’s pungent and inviting. It flows through my sinuses spinning and contorting; the luxurious tingly aroma draws me in closer and closer. I try to resist but alas I can not. She pulls me in. She grasps my hand and we go flailing onto the floor banging tables and shattering glasses. I feel like I just lost the running of the bulls but won the affection of a sweet sweet poison. The citrus is like a cruel mistress that slaps you and demands more, and you abide. She owns you. It is like dancing with your partner on the tips of your toes. I could taste the air around her it looms even after being consumed. She burns the taste buds. I could almost hear the sound of my stomach bubbling and churning as I swish and slide about. In the end we have both gained nothing leaving us right were we started off. Sitting alone staring at the polka doted Dixie cut.    

By Brandon Wilson