qi
It was your shape that caught my eye at first.
Shallow, I know.
But it’s honest.
Colour was next.
And once I met you…
I had no idea what I did before you.
The way you felt in my hands.
The way you moved.
The way you…
tasted.
I adore that cute top.
And I liked banging your bottom a little.
You know, when it was needed.
I think a lot of you, Ketchup.
You’ll never be catsup to me.
**********
So, I lost a game of Facebook Scrabble to Brandy.
We had a wager on it. I have to write and post a poem about Ketchup, wear a shirt with the collar popped all day, and send her an embarrassing pic. (Me wearing a popped collar.)
That was the poem.
wow! that was both sweet and hot.
Thanks. That’s just how I do it.
I was all hot and bothered until I realized that you were talking about ketchup, yuck! Can we bet something so that I can get you to write a poem about mustard?
I love that you have to walk around with a pooped collar! What fraternity are you rushing this spring?
I looked like an aging grad student at Douche Bag U.
I would pay to see that picture. Have a favorite charity?
Oh, man…
It is a bad pic. Even by my standards.
“Catsup” is a word that was made up by the French just to make us feel less sophisticated. I’m sure of it!
Apparently it’s English.
oh wow. you really ARE trouble.
Psssh.
And the picture???
You didn’t beat me.
Awesome
Thanks!
Why has it never occurred to me to put wagers on Facebook Scrabble games?? Oh, the possibilities…
It makes it more fun.
And makes losing reallllly annoying.
I want to win a bet and make you do something funny.
I’m brainstorming.
Bring it, lady.
This is genius. And I love that everyone wants to see the photo of you in your popped collar. ;)
I hope you deleted it by now.
i’m glad you lost the bet, cause that was a great poem. loves it.
Why thank you.
Ketchup is quite the muse.
PIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICCCCTTTUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRE!!!
:P
(Fun poem, Peter! Glad you lost. Hee hee hee!)
The picture was roooooouuuugh.
You really need to start cheating… or Brandy will have you writing poems about mustard next…
Naw. I don’t cheat.
(And she picked relish this time.)
I like the idea of you writing a mustard poem next. With the way you play, you could do a whole series on condiments.
Just kidding. You beat me a lot too.
Apparently I don’t beat you when we are betting.
Grrr.
Nice poem!
Of course I didn’t delete it. I may need it in the future.
Did that sound both sweet and ominous at the same time? That was the chord I was hoping to strike.
This is awesome! Did mustard get jealous?