"assorted" poems
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****** off
feelin lonely
tired of spats
credit cards charged up from dates that don't put out
don't like the same restaurants
not ***** to your taste
cant stand the in-laws
you wana live costal, they like Kansas
or
tired of internet dating
and no time for a quickie
when the one you love tells you they aren't in the mood
well bunky
its a brave new world
take a spin in our new model
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they talk
they walk
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scented oiled perfumed *** optional
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replete with an array of assorted interchangeable
***** pussy's and butts
extra sturdy for ware and tear
and those little irresistible spankies and whoopins
you just cant live without
plus any colors, or rainbow rubber chasse
gay straight or mix it up how eva
trans trans gender
buy out right
or rent ala cart
deluxe or standard
voice activated
advanced multi lingual
baby talk and hits the high notes
talks back software program
and
NO always means YES
plus
screams
cu cu cu cu cu cummmmming
cooes I love you
**** me now *****
shred me you ****** ******
and many others
in over 50 languages
Other optional features include
age play
ethnic fetish
banjee
blow jobs
tipping the velvet
**** to mouth
salad tossing
tea bagging
spit roast
bare back
chicken head
death grip
*******
mammary ***********
***** call
Netflix and chill
donkey punch
golden shower
brown bath
cream pie
*******
motor boating
and the shocker
two in the pink and one in the stink
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:14 AM UTC
Lady, your room is lousy with flowers.
When you kick me out, that's what I'll remember,
Me, sitting here bored as a loepard
In your jungle of wine-bottle lamps,
Velvet pillows the color of blood pudding
And the white china flying fish from Italy.
I forget you, hearing the cut flowers
Sipping their liquids from assorted pots,
Pitchers and Coronation goblets
Like Monday drunkards. The milky berries
Bow down, a local constellation,
Toward their admirers in the tabletop:
Mobs of eyeballs looking up.
Are those petals of leaves you've paried with them ---
Those green-striped ovals of silver tissue?
The red geraniums I know.
Friends, friends. They stink of armpits
And the invovled maladies of autumn,
Musky as a lovebed the morning after.
My nostrils prickle with nostalgia.
Henna hags:cloth of your cloth.
They tow old water thick as fog.
The roses in the Toby jug
Gave up the ghost last night. High time.
Their yellow corsets were ready to split.
You snored, and I heard the petals unlatch,
Tapping and ticking like nervous fingers.
You should have junked them before they died.
Daybreak discovered the bureau lid
Littered with Chinese hands. Now I'm stared at
By chrysanthemums the size
Of Holofernes' head, dipped in the same
Magenta as this fubsy sofa.
In the mirror their doubles back them up.
Listen: your tenant mice
Are rattling the ******* packets. Fine flour
Muffles their bird feet: they whistle for joy.
And you doze on, nose to the wall.
This mizzle fits me like a sad jacket.
How did we make it up to your attic?
You handed me gin in a glass bud vase.
We slept like stones. Lady, what am I doing
With a lung full of dust and a tongue of wood,
Knee-deep in the cold swamped by flowers?
14.7k
I see so many assorted *****
I have an *** round
You have a hairy ***
He has a gigantic ***
She has a withered ***
It has a tiny ***
We have ***** round and pimpled
You have ***** flaccid
They have ***** gigantic,round,hairy,pimpled and flaccid
There is so much beauty to write about *****
Not only the function but also the shape.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
Handbag~ 1994
exam timetable
£5 from my Mum
shiny key for the front door
fresh-mint chewing gum
Handbag~ 1998
keys for work
keys for home
£20 and a bit of change
photo of my best mate
and a bloke that's twice my age
lipstick~ lacy knickers
condoms~ ID card
ticket for a bus to town
UV sparkly stars
Handbag~ 1999
keys for work
keys for home
spare key for his flat
condoms~ contraceptive pills
No.7 powder-ivory/matt
VISA/Delta debit card
paper
gel ink pens
number of a bloke
who says our love
will never end
Handbag~ 2000
keys for work
keys for home
key for the gas meter
Teletubbies picture book
list of baby-sitters
new mobile phone
herbal teething gel
lipstick~ Anadin
vanilla impulse body spray
children's Nurofen
photo of my baby boy
really tiny socks
under-eye concealer
secret stash of chocs
Handbag~ 2002
keys for work
keys for home
pull-back-and-go car
baby wipes
mobile phone
estate agents' cards
picture of my little boy
list of things to do
Boots own brand pregnancy test
both windows coloured blue
Handbag~ 2005
keys for home
card from work
tissue full of tears
photo of my boy in school
that shows his gappy teeth
photo of my baby girl
and one of both of them
a ring that used to be my Mum's
Pro-Plus~ Diazepam
Handbag~ 2009
keys for work
keys for home
one SLIM~FAST bar
one Cadbury's wrapper
Haribo~ Calpol~ tissues
assorted Disney plasters
treasured stones~ special shells
sand and bits of twig
money to buy ice creams
photos of my kids
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 4:52 PM UTC
that over millenia
major religions have advocated peace
their adherents have been slaughtering each other
supposedly in the name of their assorted gods
more than any other known species
why is it
that in my maturity
(which people usually call old age ...)
I‘m getting so ****** off
with politicians who seem not to see
the obvious solution to a problem
but find elaborate fake excuses
just so they can get re-elected
why is it
that for Europe it‘s so difficult
to find a way for refugees to be accepted
with respect and dignity
why is it
that the USA apparently forgets it‘s been the country
living off its (il)legal immigrants for centuries
and now simply ignores the words
they put onto their Statue of Liberty
why is it?!??
Jun 19, 2018
Jun 19, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
Let us dance for pursuit of life!
See everyone is dancing
Dragonfly, Butterfly, Birds,
Ant, Monitor, Honeybee.... and
Assorted into eternity........
Let us dance ....... in...
Search of happiness, tranquility......
Enlighten everyone with glee and
Gain the spirit for life!
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
She chases homeostasis,
with assorted frantic faces.
She is home when her heart races
as she desperate fills the spaces.
Replaces
missing graces
with far places
dreamed in cases;
displaces
taken paces,
just retraces
lost embraces.
Baseless
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
these days
looking around the globe
one might believe that we are travelling in time
just in the wrong direction
regression as progress
seems to be
the dominant notion of the day
creating wannabees in various disguises
populist czars, sultans, nationalists, dictators,
assorted self-appointed snake-oil salesmen
and saviors of their peoples’ wealth and health,
trumpeting fences, walls, tough immigration laws,
etc., etc.
to keep out all those aliens
who otherwise are welcome
as our partners in the global trade
that seems to dominate the world of greed
so we can all be ourselves
whatever that might mean
claiming to solve the problems of tomorrow
with romanticized memories of yesterday
is hopeless and quite dangerous
do you remember
what that glorified past
actually was?
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 5:36 PM UTC
Orange peel Thursdays and the Velcro shoes
Of children hordes
Who spider up Alice on toadstools in Central Park
Dusted psilocybin shoots my eyes through
With the clarity of ice and sliced mushroom
Steeping in stomach acid before finding blood
The kids are tripping like madmen or halloween candy
Like its time to release and give up to the nonsense
And let your young self congeal to a saccharine sludge
I don’t stroll in the park to keep my mind sharp
I’m here because it’s a riot
My head can throb to the jittery birds
And the blasts of carsong
It’s the right kind of rhythm to walk to
** ** **
Ketamine days and the lolling slums
To make sure the insane stay insane
And the hobos are washed with spit from the clouds
And the subway exhaust always hangs in our hair
And the old Coney Island burns again and twice more
We don’t pretend to understand what we see
In subway grates thirty feet wide
Like the earth punching out of work for a bit
Opening to you her *** belly
So you can check out the strips of metal inside
Before she slurps you down and with an esophageal squeeze
Shoots you through the turnstiles
The train squeals and grinds down our eyes
With thoughts as slow as ketamine
Makes room for schizophrenia in a conversation
We’re listening to ‘til sundown
** ** **
Years full of Brooklyn and the assorted pills
Makes offal fit for punks in name brand shoes
Squared off with police in the park
Being beaten for the fun of being beaten
Peacoat locals pass the days in supermarkets
And you grow up to the loony mumble
Of the woman who knows the boat
Moored at the end of the street
Mansion of the stray cat colony
You help her with her daily chore to feed them
Tabbies popping the pills of the homeless
And puking in tandem all over their house
Living off generous dying folk
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 4:02 PM UTC
PULLING WEEDS
Here I sit contemplating the things I have been through
A long list of ugliness mixed in with the good things, too
It reminds me of a flower garden with weeds mixed in
A lot like the beauty of life with an assorted mix of sin
The flowers are calling out to you
Their life depends on what you do
The weeds can drain them of their life
Growing around their roots causing great strife
Just like life if you do not rid yourself of the bad
It can drain you of all the good things you have ever had
So, take the time to check your weeds
Pulling them out to plant your new seeds
It may take hours, days or even years
Your garden is getting full so get into gear
It starts with just pulling one
You will be surprised when you are done
The flowers, just like life, will prosper
Thanking you for making things proper
You see, God knows the weeds your garden contains
He wants you to pull them and start to maintain
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
They come on to my clean
sheet of paper and leave a Rorschach blot.
They do not do this to be mean,
they do it to give me a sign
they want me, as Aubrey Beardsley once said,
to shove it around till something comes.
Clumsy as I am,
I do it.
For I am like them -
both saved and lost,
tumbling downward like Humpty Dumpty
off the alphabet.
Each morning I push them off my bed
and when they get in the salad
rolling in it like a dog,
I pick each one out
just the way my daughter
picks out the anchoives.
In May they dance on the jonquils,
wearing out their toes,
laughing like fish.
In November, the dread month,
they **** the childhood out of the berries
and turn them sour and inedible.
Yet they keep me company.
They wiggle up life.
They pass out their magic
like Assorted Lifesavers.
They go with me to the dentist
and protect me form the drill.
At the same time,
they go to class with me
and lie to my students.
O fallen angel,
the companion within me,
whisper something holy
before you pinch me
into the grave.
3.9k
you listen to what passes for the TV news
you read some
but not all
of social media views
you notice that
despite all internationalism
it‘s mostly old sensationalism
combined with more or less suggestive speculations about
how many people may have died in forest fires
to what imaginable depths the president aspires
whether the North Koreans have more rockets
despite the wonderful achievements
of the national superdealer
who of the leader‘s staff might be the next
to lose her job or his credentials
etc. etc.
in short
the world has mostly shrunk
to domestic politics and power games
plus a few places on the globe where
U.S. soldiers still are dying
in order to protect their country‘s interests
in oil, assorted mineral resources
or allies of political expedience
or a few thousand refugees from countries plagued
by persecution or dictators are
marching for weeks to claim asylum
in the home of the brave and the free
under the statue of liberty
only to discover that they are seen
as an invasion threatening
that blesséd city upon a hill
visions have grown smaller
more petty voices dominate the talk
a nation made of immigrants
faced with the poor who flee from their oppressors
decides to close its borders to the immigrants‘ next wave
oblivious of the times when they themselves
still searching for a better life
found a new place where they felt safe
led by the statue‘s torch that shone its light
upon a poet‘s words of welcome:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 11:36 AM UTC
crisp atmosphere, special ordered
for perfect pumpkin patching, apple picking,
stout sweaters all, a blueish autumnal sky,
orange 'n red leaves delivered on time
the old uber-man-grand-pa,
hired as a day driver,
saddles them up,
three generations all tucked in a
repeating mise en scène
a replay of some thirty years earlier,
when the now-father
was about the same age,
as his boy, three years aged
and yet so impatient
asking the same question
his father perfected,
in the same sweet voice,
at about the same time,
in the same way,
a little voice from deep in
the cavernous back seat,
sighing, squeaking with an
I've-seen-it-all ennui,
some mere five minutes into
the hour's plus journey
to the 'country' bound
"are we there yet?"
titters 'n snickers from assorted adults,
but grandpa weeps words with composition instant,
so many answers to such an important question,
so serious that an admission, confession
required, due you,
grandpa still asks the same question
every day of his life
it's Sunday and longish poems per Yeoman,
strictly verboten,
God knows there's an essay unwritten
as the answer, a symphonette with
a thousand opus, by-your-command repertoire,
a pumpkin for every patch,
some answers that even may be a
young prince's carriage in hiding
but for now let this suffice,
sometimes yes, sometimes no,
and sometimes, the goal line just goes and moves on ya
so with utmost seriousness
a purposed thoughtfulness proposed,
posing said inquiry knows no age limitation,
if you have not asked of yourself this day,
"are we there yet?”
then the answer is surely,
not yet
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
So many people into soft drinks think soda is soda
It’s a general subtle to that order
However, there is a feud going on between Sprite and Coke
It may sound like a joke
You might even choke
But to Sprite they have appeal
Then there’s Coke who feel they are for real
Pull out your straws and open a bottle of Coke and Sprite
Let the soda challenge begin
The texture of Sprite in the see thru glass with its lemon and lime
The Coke having its own ingredients with assorted flavor combined
However with every pour
It is the every soda fizz that is galore
Sprite says, “They have the taste that dazzles the mind”
Well Coke responds with, “We have been around since time”
The Coke’s story centered around some Poplar Bears
Well Sprite in that instance can’t compare
Sprite is determined to have the customer obey their thirst
That’s all that matters when doing it first
Well this challenge is really hard to say
But to this poet that is ok
Sprite and Coke both have good taste
Surely I am not going to spend time and make waste
So what if Sprite is clear and Coke is dark
Both have been around and made their mark
This soda challenge is done
It was a matter in thinking soft drink fun.
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
the surprisingly sweetest clementine
2016
amidst
the marble and stone pillars
of the museum's fifth avenue grand hall,
a woman grows faint and woozy,
and the Egyptian artifacts five thousand years old,
re-proved as reusable, sustainable,
as leaning-against-posts
for the dizzy
the boyfriend well familiar
with dehydration side effects,
from pocket pulls a natural pill of
a sweet clementine,
restoring the well
to the good
she marvels at
how came I
to place a survival kit in my
coat pocket?
smiling, he confesses
his fondness for
providing
for all her needs,
known and unknown
even carries an inventory,
with back ups to back ups,
assorted sundries,
he calls it,
proving his point too well,
reaching into the other
pocket and offering
yet another,
a second helping
for his,
oh my darling,
sweetest clementine
she, undecided,
laugh or cry,
both equally attractive amazement solutions,
says only:
I love you for reasons,
known and unknown,
now,
take me home
for reasons
now known,
and others,
as of yet,
most happily,
unknown
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 1:12 PM UTC
It's in the heart of the grape
where that smile lies.
It's in the good-bye-bow in the hair
where that smile lies.
It's in the clerical collar of the dress
where that smile lies.
What smile?
The smile of my seventh year,
caught here in the painted photograph.
It's peeling now, age has got it,
a kind of cancer of the background
and also in the assorted features.
It's like a rotten flag
or a vegetable from the refrigerator,
pocked with mold.
I am aging without sound,
into darkness, darkness.
Anne,
who are you?
I open the vein
and my blood rings like roller skates.
I open the mouth
and my teeth are an angry army.
I open the eyes
and they go sick like dogs
with what they have seen.
I open the hair
and it falls apart like dust *****
I open the dress
and I see a child bent on a toilet seat.
I crouch there, sitting dumbly
pushing the enemas out like ice cream,
letting the whole brown world
turn into sweets.
Anne,
who are you?
Merely a kid keeping alive.
3.2k
Polka Dot, Polka Dot, a one pony show
Strange name for a child, but she loves it so
Cheerful wee girl with sweet smile aglow
Adores all round shapes, expects you to know
Her twenty one garments sport assorted dots
Basic eight pairs of footwear, orange and green spots
Gaudy bows for her hair, with colored rings, lots
Dot sees spheres imbedded in her eyes and thoughts
Blankets and curtains, guess what, dots and lace
The spotted mouse toy for the cat to chase
Walls with orbs and specks on all space
In the right light they reflect on your face
Dot's off to school with a polka dot hat
Coat, umbrella with circles, imagine that
Polka dotted notebooks, pencils and backpack
Rides pink spotted two wheeler, parks in bike rack
Poor Polka Dot started feeling sickly ill
Sent to school nurse where she refused a pill
Saw the Doc, calamine lotion and advice to chill
Spots! Chickenpox! Polka Dots notable thrill
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 3:07 PM UTC
I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth—
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches’ broth—
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?—
If design govern in a thing so small.
3k
As I move along this Jaded biway
Gathering up all the discarded refuse
Of all the people freely moving on
With the scattered discourse of their lives
I wonder if they ever even realize
The wonderous thoughts that materialize
In the minds - of those confined
To time upon time upon endless time
Let loose through the portals
Of rubber wheeled time machines
The half consumed french fries
And the other assorted wrappers
From the king or the colonel or old MacDonald
To await the attention of me
Or one of my Band of Brothers
Stripe garbed attendants on a social mission
To gather up all that is discarded
Picking up all the pieces for a dollar a
day
Serving my time for some stupid crime
That I might never have done
If I'd been given the job... Like... Perhaps
Picking up trash on the side of the road
And for the feeling of pride - at earning my own
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 6:01 PM UTC
I started writing a poem and somehow found myself
comparing your traits to that of a sweater,
and there might have been an allusion to buttery clouds,
So I decided maybe love metaphors aren't my thing,
but I don't need analogies to tell you that
your eyes make me think of tree houses and that
kneading your skin like dough is just as soothing
to my own soul.
If I could, I'd compare your lips to something
life-sustaining, your hands to the sole thing that
grounds me, but I can't think of
anything clever when our foreheads resting together
makes me see stars. When your breath heats my neck,
those stars explode.
You make my solar system change rotation,
planets straying from orbit, which is a stupid metaphor
because I'm not the universe,
just a dandelion in a field of assorted weeds.
You're a bumblebee hovering, maybe, or a cricket
lounging on my petals. That's
dumb, too, because I'm not rooted to the ground;
I have legs to run, maybe wings. Point is, I'm not going to use
comparisons to tell you what you do.
Every line has been used before and your love is like no other.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 11:22 AM UTC
darling,
you wear your depression
as a mask of undeniable normality-
don't say you're messed up.
it carves wells beneath your eyes,
streaks your face with a natural glow,
weighs down your heart
so you don't fly away to the stars...
away from us-
don't tell me it steals your beauty.
darling,
it keeps your pen going
during those early mornings
after all the caffeine
has run out
and your mind can no longer battle
the long, black fingers of sleep
grasping for you-
don't write any more society-approved lies.
it leaves art on your skin,
whether it be permanent
or with assorted colors of paint,
that tell stories,
your stories,
without words.
no longer hide the battles you've fought-
don't let others scorn your victories.
darling,
you are a masterpiece,
you are perfection.
don't let this depression
own you,
but become more than it.
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 7:46 PM UTC
Hey, I already told you that you were a little bit crazy.
What did you think—that I was completely nuts?
Come on, Cashew, and shake that walnut-sized brain of
yours, and then we’ll try to put together a decent menu.
Still, I ought to kick you in those itty-bitty sunflower seeds,
those ones that you claim to be your source of protein.
Hey, Macadamia Breath, accidentally lose the ******* hula
dancer and then fire the impending search-and-rescue party!
Your tropical trail mix was no good for each other.
You need a vacation from this deserted island, Captain Crunch.
Go down south and get yourself the businessman’s special.
You know—some old-fashioned brazil nuts.
Yeah, that’s the two-tickets-to-paradise, for sure.
Fool, you really do need to buff up the old almond.
Do I need to open up the **** aluminum lid for you?
You’ve been stuck inside this assorted, mixed can that you
try to refer to as an extra bedroom for nearly nine months.
Get out and take in a little hike and bike
right after you do the wake and bake.
Maybe you should go slow roast yourself at the beach a little.
Why don’t you go to the mountains and try to become one of those
pine nuts that end up in all of those overpriced health cereals?
Hey, Snickers, those dank trees really are beautiful, you know.
Would you quit acting like a frikkin’ flax seed already?
Just admit that it’s almost payday, for criminy sakes!
You pathetic Mister Peanut, you.
Please, Saint Chestnut, give this completely lost consumer strength
from high above store aisle number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Listen to me, Nutt Sack, will you shake those tiny little beer
nuts that no one can seem to stomach anyway?
First of all, they are becoming way too stale just sitting around here,
so if you continue to wait any longer, they will petrify—and then we
will eventually be forced to call you teeth-breaking Corn Nuts!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
He grasps stardust in his
Hands
Sand they turn truly lovely
In one hand
The edges glint golden rusty and Brown they turn
The color of lovely shriveled late
Autumn leaves
They sink soundly to the ground
Smell of raw;
Earthy taste moist like rich bread and wine
So red his lips have not
The look of innocence
Stripped naked like bark chiseled wood
How I would love them forever
My vain endeavour
Still he lays partially
Amongst the blotchy patch of shade as
The
Tree
Lovingly sways
To the sound of his
Coos
Darling he sleeps as the Sheep watch over him
My little Sheppard boy
Dreamingly sound
May rippling waters of your subconscious mind settle to shore
Tides emerge in deepest
Blue
Violently crash into the
Crimson colored rocky edge of the
Stone face cliff
Now faced with thick
Cumulonimbus clouds that
Cloud the dawn's last fiery
Light
Streaks of lightening
Silhouette whip upon his
Face and like thunder the
Lions
Roar not in pain
But in vigorous anger as
The ringmaster bows at the
Choking applaud of the
Painted audience
The wind unweaves grassy tangles in your hair
Tormenting suitors
Tease;
You messily please
Imperfectly perfect that you are able to
Appeal as effortlessly
Dressed in natures blend
Like a jar of
Roasted nuts
Of assorted trail mix
Still
You lay there
Decorated in earth's blankets of roots Grass
Twigs leaves
Oh
How it hurts to leave
I'd sit here loving you
Instead
Twist peering down upon
Deepest desires
Swept in eternal sleep
Longingly
I join your slumber
Drift into dream where I
May wake up finding you
Beside me
Where sleep steals me upon
Your shoulder
Warmth of arms lightly
Grasped
Dawn red as a match in the
Distance slowly
Smothered
Surrendering to nights cold
Silence
But the stars
Whispers of compliments to
The moon
Each night loved you kindly
Each star a kiss upon your
Cheek
May the stars love you Sweeter than they have Loved me
But darling I've loved you
Forever
Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
One Republic
pick and mix, assorted all sorted
wrinkles missing, smooth as glaciers
toils reversing on harbingers like excesses does
walking the trodden alleys learning Sods mathematics
organs pains for non-organics are inherent consequences so
one Republic and the anthropologists utters a myth in passing
all bananas look like all bananas because bananas are bananas alike
sing a song of three pence and a pocket full of fear
Plato's cave a grand auditorium for lames
united disunited ages in anti-virus glares
white noise in white air and masses sigh
the emperor's coat plays invisible chess
ladies think long and hard in minds
for a dolphin swims like none-other
the glides of the sweetest depths
and in those places unseen
expanded vibes of feels
know reasons why so
it's the bigger snap
it's the difference
the forbidden
fruit lures
will not
move
not
go
in
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 6:07 AM UTC