sundried tomatoes sans oil were strewn all over the floor. she tripped and had her arms too full in effort of being efficient. now she was not saving time but losing it because she had to sweep and scan the floor for each orangey red fragment.
Tomatoes in the pasta in spooning into flat platters, open mouths and wriggling tongues jumping to catch every last oily drop that sits on their teeth and spins out rainbows like raindrops on blades of grass, just before they suck them down and gulp happily, gaping their mouths for more.
tomatoes? Where and when did they show up on our menus? Can’t recall any mention of them in my first 25 years. sure didn’t show up on our dinner table coming up. Of course a whole lot of stuff we eat now wasn’t on our table.
She took a bite of her pasta, the sundried tomatoes a nice compliment to the noodles lightly seasoned with basil. He watched her with a smug grin, knowing she was loving the food he prepared for her. He loved the way her mouth curled around her food, making him think of how it would look and feel around his cock as she sucked him off.
He’d never liked them, but she ate them slowly, reverently, on bread and in the midst of eggplants and with cucumber salad. She ate them whenever she could get them, and as she ate them, she too, seemed to grow more wrinkled and bent, more shriveled and bright (the brightness came from the oil; they both knew that).
And despite the fact that every day she looked in the mirror, she didn’t stop eating them. “I’m growing old anyway.” she said, “I might as well enjoy it.”
Talia sat, picking the sundried tomatoes off of her garden salad while he yammered on about vacation days. “What’s the point?” she said, looking up. “You’ll just be counting down the hours until you go back to work. To her.” She stood then, abandoning the tomatoes–and the man–for something that would leave less bile burning in the back of her throat.
I love sundried tomatoes and raisins. They’re the best! Put them in salads and, at least as to Raisins, in cereals and other things. I also like sundried sheets. So much better to pull a sheet crisp dried by the sun and smelling fresh.
I can remember when I was young that my grandmother used to to place the grated cassava in a bowl and placed it in the yard to be sundried. This was done afer all the milk was squeezed out of it first.
sundried tomatoes. they lie on the beach and go pinker and pinker untill all their juice has evaporated and they are now fully dry. then they get conserved, and poured into jars, ready to be mixed into various dishes cooked by various chefs. The best sundried tomatoes get sent to france, to be used by the famous gusteau, owner and chef at the best restaurant in the whole of Paris.
sun dried tomatoes lie out on the lawn.
her dress lie on the bed.
her lie lays on her lips like blood on the rose.
and the sun dried tomatoes lie out on the lawn.
he was the one with the sundried skin, i was the one with the sunkissed skin. neither of us belonged here on earth, freezing in the icy tundra known as new york.
the sundried raisin sat between us. it was an uncomfortable silence. his skin was also quite sundried and leathery, for that matter. used to applying lotion, mine was soft as water. he picked up his guitar and began strumming some notes again.
Tomatoes! What else is sundried? Raisins, for sure. But I swear I never heard of sundried raisins. Lots of things are dried in the sun but the only thing I can recall actually being named sundried are tomatoes. And, by the way, yum.
I can’t seem to find words to fill these holes. a word with such a meaning in so many ways, stands blank today. but when the mood strikes even the greatest of artists and creaters, magic is made.
Two, Three, Five and Nine.
Little tomatoes, all sublime.
The sun wakes up, ready to
Blow up,
And Time crushes their bodies.
Time and Light,
All shrivelling them until the night.
She would lay on her back in the front yard and stretch toward the sun. Her mother would come to the porch and call for her raisin when it was time for dinner.
Antonio walked outside, the empty bowl in his hand as he began collecting the small dried tomatoes from the table he’d left them sitting on. Everyone loved sundried tomatoes, and no one loved them more than Lovino, and today being the boy’s birthday, it was going to be a surprise.
Sundried tomatoes, not something that I would personally put in an omlette, but this guy was different. Special. Particular. He pulled his socks to exactly half way up his calf and his books always sat no more than two inches away from the left side corner of his desk. If he wanted sundried tomatoes in his omlette, I wouldn’t say anything about it.
sundried tomatoes are the best. i love them since i was a kid. i wish i knew how to make them at home, because in my city, one doesn’t get them at super markets. i can actually eat them as is, but with pasta, they taste the yummiest. Even on pizza actually. Sundried tomatoes and lotsssss of cheese! Awsesomesauce!!!
The girl lye there on the beach sun-dried, she melted away just so she could get the perfect tan. She sighed and thought is this really worth it? And then she decided no and sat up and saw her body as perfect, she was happy. She changed her life, and everything worked out for the better :)
I don’t know what sundried tomatoes are used for, really. Are they even a real thing? My spell check says “sundried” isn’t a word. You need to reevaluate your word choices.
I remember the way that they shriveled,
glistened and wrinkled,
hanging in the sun.
I remember the way that it smelled — that air;
and I remember the freedom I felt.
I remember how simple things were,
and I remember how sweet it truly was.
The chef the sun-dried tomatoes in with the pasta and began to toss it in the bowl. The pasta went squish squish and glistened in the Tuscan evening sun coming through the window. It’s was the reason Sarah would never go back home. This was her happiness.
An orange dress, yellow spots like sun-dried white grapes scattered near the bottom, flickered into view. I glanced up to see my cousin jut out her cotton-sashed waist against a fist. With a frown, she asked what in the *world* could I be doing?
Sundried tomato fields and warm rushes of pearl,
I loved for the first time
the last time
I lay here pale
and dark
reaching for moonlight
for the last time
Sundried tomatoes are quite unpleasant to me, which is ironic because I love tomatoes. It’s sort of a metaphor for people. When we’re young and fresh we’re loved, when we’re old and dried up we become repulsive.
sundried tomatoes sans oil were strewn all over the floor. she tripped and had her arms too full in effort of being efficient. now she was not saving time but losing it because she had to sweep and scan the floor for each orangey red fragment.
I went to a candie shop yesterday, and I got surprised by the sundried of candies I found there.
Tomatoes in the pasta in spooning into flat platters, open mouths and wriggling tongues jumping to catch every last oily drop that sits on their teeth and spins out rainbows like raindrops on blades of grass, just before they suck them down and gulp happily, gaping their mouths for more.
tomatoes? Where and when did they show up on our menus? Can’t recall any mention of them in my first 25 years. sure didn’t show up on our dinner table coming up. Of course a whole lot of stuff we eat now wasn’t on our table.
She left a kiss upon my cheek, gentle as the breeze.
Corner of Main St, this is where she asked me to meet her later.
Only I overslept our rendezvous by an hour.
Tempted by hope or madness I took off to find her.
Trusting this sundried kiss still tingling.
Champagne under the big white tent,
we moved you out.
gloomy campus with fingers crossed, i
counted the cracks,
collected sunflowers.
she bloomed
while i
burned
She took a bite of her pasta, the sundried tomatoes a nice compliment to the noodles lightly seasoned with basil. He watched her with a smug grin, knowing she was loving the food he prepared for her. He loved the way her mouth curled around her food, making him think of how it would look and feel around his cock as she sucked him off.
Sundried tomatoes – mmm. I love sundried food it reminds me of sunny places and relaxing. Mind you sitting in the sun I become sundried too!
Sundried tomatoes in oil.
He’d never liked them, but she ate them slowly, reverently, on bread and in the midst of eggplants and with cucumber salad. She ate them whenever she could get them, and as she ate them, she too, seemed to grow more wrinkled and bent, more shriveled and bright (the brightness came from the oil; they both knew that).
And despite the fact that every day she looked in the mirror, she didn’t stop eating them. “I’m growing old anyway.” she said, “I might as well enjoy it.”
I love sundried tomatoes with pasta and arugula. But adding this to indian food aint so great. Sorta tastes pickled!
Talia sat, picking the sundried tomatoes off of her garden salad while he yammered on about vacation days. “What’s the point?” she said, looking up. “You’ll just be counting down the hours until you go back to work. To her.” She stood then, abandoning the tomatoes–and the man–for something that would leave less bile burning in the back of her throat.
I love sundried tomatoes and raisins. They’re the best! Put them in salads and, at least as to Raisins, in cereals and other things. I also like sundried sheets. So much better to pull a sheet crisp dried by the sun and smelling fresh.
I can remember when I was young that my grandmother used to to place the grated cassava in a bowl and placed it in the yard to be sundried. This was done afer all the milk was squeezed out of it first.
Her skin was like leather, sundried and parched. Ick.
sundried tomatoes. they lie on the beach and go pinker and pinker untill all their juice has evaporated and they are now fully dry. then they get conserved, and poured into jars, ready to be mixed into various dishes cooked by various chefs. The best sundried tomatoes get sent to france, to be used by the famous gusteau, owner and chef at the best restaurant in the whole of Paris.
sun dried tomatoes lie out on the lawn.
her dress lie on the bed.
her lie lays on her lips like blood on the rose.
and the sun dried tomatoes lie out on the lawn.
sundried leaves. sundried condiment. sundried land. dried, sapless, brown. out of life.
Sundried tomatoes: mangled strips of blood red flesh, texture like leather, oozing oil.
he was the one with the sundried skin, i was the one with the sunkissed skin. neither of us belonged here on earth, freezing in the icy tundra known as new york.
the sundried raisin sat between us. it was an uncomfortable silence. his skin was also quite sundried and leathery, for that matter. used to applying lotion, mine was soft as water. he picked up his guitar and began strumming some notes again.
Tomatoes! What else is sundried? Raisins, for sure. But I swear I never heard of sundried raisins. Lots of things are dried in the sun but the only thing I can recall actually being named sundried are tomatoes. And, by the way, yum.
tomatoes. soaking up sunlight under a small wire mesh. dripping with olive oil, sprinkled with herbs. the food of the gods.
Sundried tomatoes. Sundried tomatoes on bread.
I can’t seem to find words to fill these holes. a word with such a meaning in so many ways, stands blank today. but when the mood strikes even the greatest of artists and creaters, magic is made.
Two, Three, Five and Nine.
Little tomatoes, all sublime.
The sun wakes up, ready to
Blow up,
And Time crushes their bodies.
Time and Light,
All shrivelling them until the night.
She would lay on her back in the front yard and stretch toward the sun. Her mother would come to the porch and call for her raisin when it was time for dinner.
Antonio walked outside, the empty bowl in his hand as he began collecting the small dried tomatoes from the table he’d left them sitting on. Everyone loved sundried tomatoes, and no one loved them more than Lovino, and today being the boy’s birthday, it was going to be a surprise.
Sundried tomatoes, not something that I would personally put in an omlette, but this guy was different. Special. Particular. He pulled his socks to exactly half way up his calf and his books always sat no more than two inches away from the left side corner of his desk. If he wanted sundried tomatoes in his omlette, I wouldn’t say anything about it.
sundried tomatoes are the best. i love them since i was a kid. i wish i knew how to make them at home, because in my city, one doesn’t get them at super markets. i can actually eat them as is, but with pasta, they taste the yummiest. Even on pizza actually. Sundried tomatoes and lotsssss of cheese! Awsesomesauce!!!
The girl lye there on the beach sun-dried, she melted away just so she could get the perfect tan. She sighed and thought is this really worth it? And then she decided no and sat up and saw her body as perfect, she was happy. She changed her life, and everything worked out for the better :)
I don’t know what sundried tomatoes are used for, really. Are they even a real thing? My spell check says “sundried” isn’t a word. You need to reevaluate your word choices.
I remember the way that they shriveled,
glistened and wrinkled,
hanging in the sun.
I remember the way that it smelled — that air;
and I remember the freedom I felt.
I remember how simple things were,
and I remember how sweet it truly was.
The chef the sun-dried tomatoes in with the pasta and began to toss it in the bowl. The pasta went squish squish and glistened in the Tuscan evening sun coming through the window. It’s was the reason Sarah would never go back home. This was her happiness.
tomatoes come to mind
but also fake tanning girls
like the beautiful one that let me touch her, and take her on a sweet date
never have i been so inpassion and never have i been so surprised
she meant everything just for a moment.
and i honestly believed that nobody had looked into her eyes, like i had.
sundried tomatoes.
basking in that california sunshine.
dried up like little prunes…
or the ends of my fingers after time spent in the shower.
soaking up that sunshine.
undoing what you have misplaced.
An orange dress, yellow spots like sun-dried white grapes scattered near the bottom, flickered into view. I glanced up to see my cousin jut out her cotton-sashed waist against a fist. With a frown, she asked what in the *world* could I be doing?
Sundried tomato fields and warm rushes of pearl,
I loved for the first time
the last time
I lay here pale
and dark
reaching for moonlight
for the last time
The wind and sun did their damage.The cracking and fading had taken it’s toll.
It was horrible! The sundried conditions of it all was awful!
Sundried tomatoes are quite unpleasant to me, which is ironic because I love tomatoes. It’s sort of a metaphor for people. When we’re young and fresh we’re loved, when we’re old and dried up we become repulsive.