You can’t forget that first taste of air after spending an eternity underwater. The kind of eternity when you can’t open your eyes and you can’t feel the surface of the water breaking over your face to grasp that gasp of air. The kind when you forget the practiced kicks of YMCA swimming lessons and lash your legs out, turning currents into steps. The kind when moments before you felt the serenity of the mellow waters and decide you could stay down there forever.
I didn’t use my Groupon for a wine tasting. Missed opportunities. Graduation is approaching. I thought about him today. Leaving a familiar tasting annoyance in my mouth.
Tasting every bit of you on my tongue. I feel dizzy from it all, from being around you. You’re beautiful and so unlike myself that it draws me to you. I don’t know how to handle you, I can’t, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.
It was a bit like tasting a badly made drink. Just a bit too strong. Too much for the taste buds. Not that she didn’t like her alcohol but… well, this wasn’t about alcohol now was it?
She knew the minute that he left that he was lying. Not from his stance, and the flick of his eyes that communicated he was telling her lies. Instead, it was the taste of his words as they passed across the room, the subtle saltiness that she knew from experience would eventually fill her mouth with bitterness as they hurled verbal spears at each other.
He ran his tongue along John’s finger. Tasting, testing, familiarizing himself with something new and unusual. It tasted vaguely of salt and just a little of the fries that they had eaten earlier.
Once upon a time there lived a man who first tasted life in the still cold darkness of a cave. a rather dark and mysterious cave with no conceivable boundaries; an illustrious world bound by no ends.
I was tasting the ice cream when he told me that he’d buy me as many cones as my heart desired. But I told him I only wanted one. So I chose the rocky road and he paid the whole two bucks fifty for it, and we went on a long walk. And even without that rocky road, I’d be more than okay.
“Taste?” He perked a brow, sea-green eyes flickering with madness. “You want to ask me about taste?”
She shrugged in answer, chucking another ear of corn into the wicker basket. “Lift with your arms, not your back.” She muttered. “And I was asking about tasting. The whole taste testing thing, did you want to try it or not?”
He didn’t answer.
She didn’t press him.
They walked along the vegetable stalls and finally stood in line to pay for the produce.
She paused, mouth slightly open as she tasted the air. Frowned, closed her eyes, opened her mouth wider, breathing in deeper. That wasn’t right.
She shook her head and glanced around nervously. For the wind to be tasting of Shadows this soon…
It was time for the Sacrifice.
Tasting the sin of her lips
I felt a hint of the fire that awaited me
After our petit mort for surely that
Death will not be so small and I will truely
End for no mortal is meant to sip from
The god’s ambrosia.
Oh. But what a way to go.
It tasted green. A fresh smooth taste. Fresh like spring water as it must have been recently rinsed. fresh like sunshine as it was raw and not cooked and recently had been out soaking up the afternoon rays. It tasted smooth, not having been dredged through any other seasonings. It was joyous to savor.
These sensations were enhanced in the knowing that all of this tasting confirmed the pure goodness that it was bringing to my life. it was not only helping me to enjoy the moment, but the nutrients hiding behind each taste sensation were bringing health and wholeness to my general well being.
Sometimes, she couldn’t stand him.
His ignorance never failed to irritate her, making it harder and harder for her to remind herself that he was a foolish rich boy, too sheltered to know any better. Still, she would find him far more blameless and forgivable if he actually used an ounce of self restraint and did not utter such small-minded, preposterous things. So there she stood, glowering at him from across the table, tasting the caustic words dying to leave the tip of her tongue.
She hated him when he behaved this way.
It especially didn’t help that the firm, innocuous smile he gave her as she glared up at him was leaving her vaguely weak in the knees.
love is like tasting a lemonade, sweet but with a bitter essence, when you kiss its like eating chocolate, sweet soft and delicious and when someone hurts you its like eating raw brocoli hard, tasteless and you really know this its not the way brocoli should tase like
Apple banana pie cookie crumbs why crumbs what a ridiculous word “crumb” I dinnae understand why it has to sound to ridiculous in order to convey a small chunck off of an edible item, perhaps I should be better in english oh right tasting
Tasting good food.
Tasting life.
Tasting new and different foods from different countries.
Tasting something that looks different and strange.
Tasting means taking a chance with new and different things.
I love tasting my friends cakes and pastries!! she always bakes and does a heck of a job. she makes cupcakes, cake pops, snickerdoodles, chocolate chip, sugar cookies. and so much more. i made mini banana cream pies and they tasted pretty decent too;)
My mouth went dry and I swallowed my tongue, and everything tasted like sand and salt and sadness. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat again, just sit here and prod at my insides.
It’s almost time for lunch and I’m hoping it’s not fish again…again…more fish. When I slide that door open, I cross my fingers, I cross my toes. I pray for something–anything but fish. But before my eyes can see, my nose can smell, that tasty fish.
Do you ever see the tears run down your face, watching yourself cry in the mirror, and begin to wonder what makes this sensation so delightful? Even through your tears – over the boyfriend breakup, over the failed test, over the death of the family dog – eventually your curiosity outweighs the sadness and you stick the tip of your tongue out to catch a falling tear, amid all the snot and ick running down your face.
Tastes like acceptance.
my tongue on your skin, there’s salty sweat and that perfume your mother gave you for your birthday and just a hint of dirt from when I pushed you in the grass but then there’s something that is nothing but you
It tasted like hope. I know that sounds like a slight exgratation, but after a few days attempting run a way, mac and cheese like it was cooked by gods. But I had to come back. What would sweet, little Michelle do trapped in a house with him? Even if mom refused to look at me, even if the bruises Michelle got from Dad were turning blue and yellow, I had my artificial cheese and for a moment, even thing would be ok.
i love tasting new books. books come in all different flavors, too many for just one sitting. that’s why we have a lifetime to savor the tastes of all the books in the libraries of the world. tasting also applies to such trivial things such as food, but hey, knowledge is much more important to an intellectual, right?
“Las’ time I take you with me to a wine tasting,” Tobias slurred, stumbling toward the door with Astor’s arm draped over his shoulders. While the phoenix was reeling in stumbling in a frankly alarming manner, the trickster was nearly unconscious. “We were supposed to TASTE the wines, Astor. We were not supposed to play covert drinking games with them.”
“Hey, man, I didn’ MAKE you play,” Astor somehow found the wherewithal to respond.
All of these images. All of these memories. It leaves me wanting to taste more of you. I miss tasting the way we intertwined each others breath of life. I miss tasting the happiness of just enjoying each other’s presence. However, I fear you wanting or searching for that taste from other things your eyes lay upon. I know that’s stupid of me. I know we’re the best thing that’s happened to each other. But sometimes I just can’t help but think that’s not always the case.
Every little cell bubbled forward, raising an erect globular head to the sky beyond the cavern. “Yes, us please. Let it cool our head-tops, tingle our bottoms and let us be pretentious little taste buds lapping at the veritable honey of pollen hidden in this, this ambrosial nectar”. Little did the tastebuds know – they were rather ironically drowning in a mouth-full of rootbeer float.
Every little cell bubbled forward, raising an erect globular head to the sky beyond the cavern. “Yes, us please”. Let it cool our head-tops, tingle our bottoms and let us be pretentious little taste buds lapping at the veritable honey of pollen hidden in this, this ambrosial nectar. Little did the tastebuds know – they were rather ironically drowning in a mouth-full of a rootbeer float.
She squeezed the paw paw fruit in front of her lips and felt the cool spirt of juice on her lips. Parting them to allow it’s entrance into her mouth seemed like an eternity before the mango and banana flavor erupt in her mouth with the tropical essence that she wouldn’t expect from a North American fruit.
I sat in shock, not knowing what sensation was overcoming my tastebuds. As the spices developed, my back went rigid. The heat swam down my throat, sending fire to my stomach. Tasting it was like nothing I had ever experience before.
I sat there, in shock. I didn’t know what this was, this exoctic feeling that was coming over my senses. My back went rigid as the spices kicked in and sent a heat down my throat. I was amaze by the sensation of the food, tasting it was as nothing I had ever done.
The nectar of the butterfly was exquisite, the flavors writhing and caressing my sensitive palate and we danced throughout the night to the rhythm of human existence.
The pink swirl of buds shoots out from her mouth, tasting, always tasting.
It explores the crevices in air pockets of air; it tantalizes her every wish as it succumbs to the rich canvases of all that is life.
The taste of your lips excites me.
You can’t forget that first taste of air after spending an eternity underwater. The kind of eternity when you can’t open your eyes and you can’t feel the surface of the water breaking over your face to grasp that gasp of air. The kind when you forget the practiced kicks of YMCA swimming lessons and lash your legs out, turning currents into steps. The kind when moments before you felt the serenity of the mellow waters and decide you could stay down there forever.
you taste the fire
you taste the rules
i taste the rebellion
and i’m the fool.
tasting.
I didn’t use my Groupon for a wine tasting. Missed opportunities. Graduation is approaching. I thought about him today. Leaving a familiar tasting annoyance in my mouth.
Tasting every bit of you on my tongue. I feel dizzy from it all, from being around you. You’re beautiful and so unlike myself that it draws me to you. I don’t know how to handle you, I can’t, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to.
It was a bit like tasting a badly made drink. Just a bit too strong. Too much for the taste buds. Not that she didn’t like her alcohol but… well, this wasn’t about alcohol now was it?
She knew the minute that he left that he was lying. Not from his stance, and the flick of his eyes that communicated he was telling her lies. Instead, it was the taste of his words as they passed across the room, the subtle saltiness that she knew from experience would eventually fill her mouth with bitterness as they hurled verbal spears at each other.
He ran his tongue along John’s finger. Tasting, testing, familiarizing himself with something new and unusual. It tasted vaguely of salt and just a little of the fries that they had eaten earlier.
Once upon a time there lived a man who first tasted life in the still cold darkness of a cave. a rather dark and mysterious cave with no conceivable boundaries; an illustrious world bound by no ends.
I was tasting the ice cream when he told me that he’d buy me as many cones as my heart desired. But I told him I only wanted one. So I chose the rocky road and he paid the whole two bucks fifty for it, and we went on a long walk. And even without that rocky road, I’d be more than okay.
tastes like failure. like the mundane, the metallic tang of the spoon i sit on is my most interesting flavour. no wonder i remain a side dish.
“Taste?” He perked a brow, sea-green eyes flickering with madness. “You want to ask me about taste?”
She shrugged in answer, chucking another ear of corn into the wicker basket. “Lift with your arms, not your back.” She muttered. “And I was asking about tasting. The whole taste testing thing, did you want to try it or not?”
He didn’t answer.
She didn’t press him.
They walked along the vegetable stalls and finally stood in line to pay for the produce.
“So…want to try it?”
“Why not?”
light of hope
The kindred spirits was holding a tasting of some fine scotch that I could not keep away. Oh dear alcohol.
She paused, mouth slightly open as she tasted the air. Frowned, closed her eyes, opened her mouth wider, breathing in deeper. That wasn’t right.
She shook her head and glanced around nervously. For the wind to be tasting of Shadows this soon…
It was time for the Sacrifice.
Tasting the sin of her lips
I felt a hint of the fire that awaited me
After our petit mort for surely that
Death will not be so small and I will truely
End for no mortal is meant to sip from
The god’s ambrosia.
Oh. But what a way to go.
It tasted green. A fresh smooth taste. Fresh like spring water as it must have been recently rinsed. fresh like sunshine as it was raw and not cooked and recently had been out soaking up the afternoon rays. It tasted smooth, not having been dredged through any other seasonings. It was joyous to savor.
These sensations were enhanced in the knowing that all of this tasting confirmed the pure goodness that it was bringing to my life. it was not only helping me to enjoy the moment, but the nutrients hiding behind each taste sensation were bringing health and wholeness to my general well being.
I am grateful for this experience.
Sometimes, she couldn’t stand him.
His ignorance never failed to irritate her, making it harder and harder for her to remind herself that he was a foolish rich boy, too sheltered to know any better. Still, she would find him far more blameless and forgivable if he actually used an ounce of self restraint and did not utter such small-minded, preposterous things. So there she stood, glowering at him from across the table, tasting the caustic words dying to leave the tip of her tongue.
She hated him when he behaved this way.
It especially didn’t help that the firm, innocuous smile he gave her as she glared up at him was leaving her vaguely weak in the knees.
love is like tasting a lemonade, sweet but with a bitter essence, when you kiss its like eating chocolate, sweet soft and delicious and when someone hurts you its like eating raw brocoli hard, tasteless and you really know this its not the way brocoli should tase like
Apple banana pie cookie crumbs why crumbs what a ridiculous word “crumb” I dinnae understand why it has to sound to ridiculous in order to convey a small chunck off of an edible item, perhaps I should be better in english oh right tasting
Tasting good food.
Tasting life.
Tasting new and different foods from different countries.
Tasting something that looks different and strange.
Tasting means taking a chance with new and different things.
I love tasting my friends cakes and pastries!! she always bakes and does a heck of a job. she makes cupcakes, cake pops, snickerdoodles, chocolate chip, sugar cookies. and so much more. i made mini banana cream pies and they tasted pretty decent too;)
I say that it tastes good.
But maybe that’s just to please you.
Honey, perhaps I could do the cooking tonight?
Sure, dear, sure.
Taste and smell and sight are more than enough.
My mouth went dry and I swallowed my tongue, and everything tasted like sand and salt and sadness. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat again, just sit here and prod at my insides.
It’s almost time for lunch and I’m hoping it’s not fish again…again…more fish. When I slide that door open, I cross my fingers, I cross my toes. I pray for something–anything but fish. But before my eyes can see, my nose can smell, that tasty fish.
Do you ever see the tears run down your face, watching yourself cry in the mirror, and begin to wonder what makes this sensation so delightful? Even through your tears – over the boyfriend breakup, over the failed test, over the death of the family dog – eventually your curiosity outweighs the sadness and you stick the tip of your tongue out to catch a falling tear, amid all the snot and ick running down your face.
Tastes like acceptance.
my tongue on your skin, there’s salty sweat and that perfume your mother gave you for your birthday and just a hint of dirt from when I pushed you in the grass but then there’s something that is nothing but you
tasting cookies
tasting butterflies
tasting food
tasting cupcakes
tasting grass
tasting nothing
tasting something
tasting flowers
It tasted like hope. I know that sounds like a slight exgratation, but after a few days attempting run a way, mac and cheese like it was cooked by gods. But I had to come back. What would sweet, little Michelle do trapped in a house with him? Even if mom refused to look at me, even if the bruises Michelle got from Dad were turning blue and yellow, I had my artificial cheese and for a moment, even thing would be ok.
i love tasting new books. books come in all different flavors, too many for just one sitting. that’s why we have a lifetime to savor the tastes of all the books in the libraries of the world. tasting also applies to such trivial things such as food, but hey, knowledge is much more important to an intellectual, right?
food, eating,an experience,happiness,trying something new, safety, whats this?, awesomness,wine tasting, h
“Las’ time I take you with me to a wine tasting,” Tobias slurred, stumbling toward the door with Astor’s arm draped over his shoulders. While the phoenix was reeling in stumbling in a frankly alarming manner, the trickster was nearly unconscious. “We were supposed to TASTE the wines, Astor. We were not supposed to play covert drinking games with them.”
“Hey, man, I didn’ MAKE you play,” Astor somehow found the wherewithal to respond.
All of these images. All of these memories. It leaves me wanting to taste more of you. I miss tasting the way we intertwined each others breath of life. I miss tasting the happiness of just enjoying each other’s presence. However, I fear you wanting or searching for that taste from other things your eyes lay upon. I know that’s stupid of me. I know we’re the best thing that’s happened to each other. But sometimes I just can’t help but think that’s not always the case.
Every little cell bubbled forward, raising an erect globular head to the sky beyond the cavern. “Yes, us please. Let it cool our head-tops, tingle our bottoms and let us be pretentious little taste buds lapping at the veritable honey of pollen hidden in this, this ambrosial nectar”. Little did the tastebuds know – they were rather ironically drowning in a mouth-full of rootbeer float.
Every little cell bubbled forward, raising an erect globular head to the sky beyond the cavern. “Yes, us please”. Let it cool our head-tops, tingle our bottoms and let us be pretentious little taste buds lapping at the veritable honey of pollen hidden in this, this ambrosial nectar. Little did the tastebuds know – they were rather ironically drowning in a mouth-full of a rootbeer float.
She squeezed the paw paw fruit in front of her lips and felt the cool spirt of juice on her lips. Parting them to allow it’s entrance into her mouth seemed like an eternity before the mango and banana flavor erupt in her mouth with the tropical essence that she wouldn’t expect from a North American fruit.
I sat in shock, not knowing what sensation was overcoming my tastebuds. As the spices developed, my back went rigid. The heat swam down my throat, sending fire to my stomach. Tasting it was like nothing I had ever experience before.
I sat there, in shock. I didn’t know what this was, this exoctic feeling that was coming over my senses. My back went rigid as the spices kicked in and sent a heat down my throat. I was amaze by the sensation of the food, tasting it was as nothing I had ever done.
The nectar of the butterfly was exquisite, the flavors writhing and caressing my sensitive palate and we danced throughout the night to the rhythm of human existence.
The pink swirl of buds shoots out from her mouth, tasting, always tasting.
It explores the crevices in air pockets of air; it tantalizes her every wish as it succumbs to the rich canvases of all that is life.