You said you would paint my nails. Red. Because red would looks good on my skin. Purple even. This man. You blew so much hot air up my arse I was floating. Floating on fucking air all the way down there. 260 miles. 260 miles of Soca hits, blaring out the mini speaker. Getting me in the mood to wind up my waist. I’ve never felt so much carnival in my blood. Jouvert, jumping up in the midnight light, throwing paint, bodies slick with sweat, couldn’t beat the heightened anticipation of our meet. Lips thick, juicy enough to suck on. Like pork belly off the bone. Thick and sweet. They could become addictive. If only you’d check your attitude. Rude. And you think you elevated. Wise beyond your years and I better listen. Educate. Please! You better check yourself because this arse is moving out faster than when I got here. As I recognise, you might not be so much one of those bots, but you sure can scam. Making out you’re the jealous type and now I’m off the market because I’m yours. Excuse me, but our time has to come to an end sooner than you might have been planning. You mighty fine, but I’ve seen your ugliness and I ain’t buying it no more. To think I wanted to suck on those lips for eternity. Fool that I am.