The justification for rap rock seems to be that if you take really bad rock and put really bad rap over it, the result is somehow good, provided the raps are barked by an overweight white guy with cropped hair and forearm tattoos.
He tangles his hand in my hair, and the other cups my jaw. Although I have this all planned, his lips feel shockingly sweet, swollen and soft, and more like home every time
Love is a trumpet, Donald Trump’s hair, and a turnip all turned up and facing west. Sorry, east. I am looking in a mirror, so it’s all reversed.
There’s a hair in my food! Well, I did order all the cuddles I can eat. A buffet of sleep is how I describe my love to strangers on trains.
Matty blinked. 'You're passing up for ?' 'You're bitching about ?' Rob countered. 'I feel so torn!' Matty pulled at his hair. 'Oh my god. You suck.
Love should be unconditional, while hair should be conditioned. Air should also be conditioned, and worn in place of hairnets.
She had blonde hair like spaghetti noodles, and then she went and dyed it marinara. But I loved her like I enjoy all-you-can-eat pasta buffets.
You can still be cool when you’re dead. In fact, it’s much easier, because you aren’t getting old and fat and losing your hair.
In her daydreams, they aged miraculously, she still trim with a blond ponytail, standing next to her strong, tall husband with his thick, curly dark hair and straight white teeth. Money was never an issue.
Although initially only few in numbers, it seems my gray hairs have launched an effective peer-pressure campaign intended to convert the others.
However," he continued, "this canvas is preferable to the paintings of that varlet Rubens, with his mountains of Flemish flesh sprinkled with vermilion, his waves of red hair and his medley of colors.
He relaxed his hands, lifted one and tucked a strand of wispy blonde hair behind her ear. She didn’t move; she only looked at him. He wondered if she felt it too.
A little thing, like children putting flowers in my hair, can fill up the widening cracks in my self-assurance like soothing lanolin.
Now we wake up with our memory and fix our gazes on that which was; whispering sweetness, which once coursed through us, sits silently beside us with loosened hair
The first thing that came to mind was an angel. Her hair flowing and shiny. Her legs dangling, long and smooth. She looked perfect where she was, like a painting. And then I remembered that Satan was also an angel.
Dogs have hair. Cats, fur. Dogs whine, yip, howl, bark. Cats purrr. I say: No contest.
One of the reasons I grew my hair long last year was that I like how my bangs cover my eyes: it helps me block out the things I don't want to see." -August thinking
His hands are on my back, in my hair, on my hips. His fingers move like I'm Braille, like he's trying to read me just by touching me.
And she never knew that he laid awake the whole time, his lips at her temple, his hand against her hair. Whispering her name. Whispering other words as well.
Do not stick your dick in a hair dryer. Not if you’ve got two tickets to Las Vegas and some leftover lasagna in your fridge.
Your deceit smells like a fake mustache. Nobody stole my facial hair. I shaved this morning and donated half of it to the Humane Society. The other half I kept for sentimental petting reasons.
