He Never REALLY Liked My Scones

I just can"t stand it when you don't like my scones. Feeling hurt, yet I still roll over and throw on a dome. Even thou you spit bad taste, your nakedness emits moans, groans and sometimes rabid like sex foam. From the abyss like place that hones my animal instinct sex pheromones. Now locked into the raw, rough and rugged zone. The flash in your eyes sets the tone. This is more complex then an afternoon booty bone. I'll still be ranting and raving about over tea with my gaggle of crones. I bet they like my scones!!! BUT back to our sex, that's more then just a burrito with added Tex's-Mex. The sensation is cast and conjured like a irreversible hex. But I digress, cuz what spell bound temptress could resist someone equally complex, with the right amount of hot mess. And a pinch of well endowdness, I nick-named Hot Rod I must confess. I thought our intense fiery feeling, once healing, started cuz of dealing, after it hit we both stopped stuck reeling. Would never be replaced. I remember that thought well you undressed and unlaced, as I let you into my privet place. Now I know my feeling and emotional time was just a waste. The mark I thought that was imprinted, scaring intermittent with indelible disgrace. Stained cheeks from tear streams upon my face. Smashed by the pin prick of your rejection. You seemed not to notice or mention. The abrupt halt of you pending affection. The last time i looked in to your gaze, I still saw it in your eyes refection. But that could of just been the constant altered state, that always seems to perpetuate..... That makes me stop and reevaluate that maybe it  had nothing to do with earth moving feelings of fate. That it was just a couple of hot hot hotel dates..... With room service crapes.