Friday, November 03, 2006
-Tiki Torch-
If you really know me, you know that I have a very very high expectation of 'hot'. I don't go around screaming that someone on the street is hot. I don't go running to people telling them I've seen the hottest guy. I hardly find the class studs hot in the least. Just so you know how hot 'hot' really is before I continue.
Hot is someone who carries himself with that extreme confidence, and his face has an edge to it. Like a chip, only not a chip. You know, just an edge. A cutting edge. Well defined features. And I really wanted to know what was going on in that head. And hell, (/shh) under that shirt. [Don't pretend you've never wondered. It doesn't work.] It was a nice shirt, too. Spells my name if anything. Jeans. Nice jeans. Not those that hang around your knees like a skate rat. Actual jeans. Nice, nice jeans.
Why am I meant to notice a white-hot flame when he isn't meant to glance my direction?
I will hardly figure out. And that hair. Okay, I should really stop.
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Just so you're clear...
He's MY tiki torch.
| so spoken! @ 10:30 PM|
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