"baked" poems
If I was a mountain
That soared towards the sky,
With craggy snow caps
And stormy grey eyes-
Then you'd be the clouds
That swaddled my peak,
That silenced my thunder
When I tried to speak.
If I was the earth
The desert, in fact:
With arid dry soil
And mud, baked and cracked-
You'd be the rain
The downpour that soothed;
The balm to my bruises,
Relief to my wounds.
If I was the Moon
In the indigo night,
With stars as my blanket
And silver; my light-
Well you'd be the Sun
Just always behind
That lent me your glow
And caused me to shine.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 12:39 AM UTC
I been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!
115.5k
There once was a young man named Feste, and he was not a very good young man.
He was a thief, and a sneaky one at that. He would go to all of the stores in the market and steal anything that he pleased.
He loved to steal from the baker and the butcher especially.
He would go to his hiding place in the forest after his deviousness and eat away his stolen treasures, brooding on what a “clever little boy” he was.
The baker and the butcher knew though. They noticed him coming in most days and leaving in quite a hurry. They could not actually catch him in the act, but they knew beyond a doubt what he was doing. They were having drinks together one night though when they devised a clever scheme to stop him from stealing ever again. The butcher carved up a juicy ham, and the baker baked up a delicious pie, but they added a little something extra to it…
The butcher made sure to quite a bit of alcohol into the ham, and the baker did the same with his pie. They both set their two traps in the store, right when the spoiled thief Feste came strolling into the market with his eyes gleaming.
The baker watched him walk into his shop,the pie disappeared.
The butcher watched him walk into his shop, the ham disappeared.
They both smiled and went about their work.
Feste rushed to his hiding place and devoured his stolen goodies so fast that he didn’t even realize how peculiar it seemed to taste...
Not long after, he started to feel strange. Numb and stupid. He ran towards the village, acting a buffoon. The villagers stared and laughed at Feste acting so odd. His mother found him though and brought down the fury.
“Feste! Why are you acting like a **** fool?" She demanded.
He threw out a few words in a drunken stupor and swayed in place.
"Wait.. have you been drinking!?” She screamed.
“Noe maum! Allll Ie had todae is pie and haam!” He stammered in a drunken sway.
“And where exactly did you get those!?” She inquired.
Feste had a look of terror on his face and grew silent.
He was found out to be the no good thief and was punished severely, because his mother thought he stole the alcohol as well as the pie and ham, and he couldn’t prove otherwise.
Feste never stole again and he even apologized to the butcher and baker, though they still do have a laugh now and then…
The End
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 7:03 PM UTC
Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.
Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.
Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.
Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water --
deep gulps, infinite sips.
Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.
Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.
Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.
Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.
Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat us.
Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
shelf
to the end of time.
Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
how to make
grandma's sauce.
Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC
the smell of cupcake freshly baked,
is you in my arms the morning as i wake up
-- sweet
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 2:44 AM UTC
A gentle soul that once,
Trod well, worn paths,
Laid down by matriarchs past.
Now just,
Brittle bones baked by a searing heat,
Bleached beyond a perfect white.
Here lies the last elephant.
© Nick Strong 2014
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
Though the first carried more miles, the second day of the hike was totally and unapologetically uphill.
When you ascend, hiking becomes the zen of endurance.
First, you are stripped of all the pleasures of hiking. Your excitement is boiled into lactic acid. Your love for the trail is baked, hardened and dehydrated into thoughts of laying down in the sun until the heat shrivels you into an unconscious raisin.
Try as you may to put on your “isn’t hiking just a slice of heaven?” face, strangers passing you on the downhill stride can only see your “PLEASE GOD, HELP ME OR ******* **** ME” face.
As much as hiking really is a small slice of heaven, there is no denying the living-death of taking 10 straight miles to the knees under the chaffing hell of a 50 pound sack in the relentless sun.
But when you’re back in an office, sitting on your cushy little ergonomic chair, you long for the sweat and the torture that forces your mind to the ankle deathtraps of mountain terrain. To the deep valley behind and below you, and the crystal basin at the foot of the granite Giants.
The worst thing you can do is ignore the pain—that makes it relentless. Instead you focus on the pain until you become it. The only thing left is the moment between each step, when you remember why you are here and what it is worth. Every time your foot touches dirt, it leaves twice the footprint. One on the mountain and another in your memory where you will safeguard the misery of your ascent and hold on for dear life. One day, when your knees are too weak and your body can no longer table your pack, all the pleasures and joys of the trail that you once thought dissipated in the steam of uphill toil will come rushing back with the magnified strength of every year between you and the present you once knew and respected enough to actually live.
And if you didn’t, if you let it only be pain to get through and not to focus or dwell on, then that is what it is and will always be. A dull memory of pain, dark and somber and incomplete.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
Softly seductive, some solvent serenity
Under unbelievable umbrella unlimited
Basking baked, both bonafide believers
Making music more meaningful, memory's made
Intellectual, introspective, incalculably impervious
So **** said sits salted, suspecting supplantation
Soon silly slips said summarize serendipitous
Indefinitely inplosive, internalized into intangible inflagrante
Viciousness voided, vague variables vital
Eroticism enduring, end erit empathy
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
There are grapes in my path
This abundant trail
now invisible as if we never were
Here, to pick and preen, salvage and reap
for pleasure and pain
I picked you some flowers,
I baked you a pie,
labors of love
with your own hands
connected to earth.
Breaking backs, and clinging sweat
Under wool, denim, straw, and cotton
Keeping more out than simply the sun
Depleted soil
Exhausted soul
Bursting with juice
Bountiful and hand chosen
And you in a hurry just drive by
Dust in the wind
Skin of clay mud
Day after day,
A boulder among the rows
Hunched in fields
Blistered and callused
Searching for more
Ripe for the picking
Migrants moving
Servitude by season
Benevolent harvest
Handpicked strawberries
By chocolate covered hands
destined from birth
closer to earth.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
I don’t care,
That you don’t care,
About caring about
What I care for.
And you know what?
I don’t care that
You won’t care for
the only thing that I really
care for.
What if I care about
cake? Would you not
care about cake?
Would you not care
ABOUT CAKE?
You care about cake, of course you do.
I can see it in your eyes and by
that tell tale dribble at your mouth.
Cake is something that will
make your legs quake with
butter cream goodness.
A good cake baked,
makes you proud to be
a cake baking citizen in
a country that will let you
bake cake.
So what if I care about
democracy. Would you not
care about democracy?
Would you let people live
in fear of the **** of a gun,
Would you care that there
are those who are on the run
from tyranny and violence
who know pain and loss,
that you could only
wake up from,
in a cold sweat?
As you turn and toss
in your memory foam bed.
There is more happening on this Earth
Then cake.
There are greater causes
than choosing between
Thortons Double Chocolate Celebration
and that traditional Victoria Sponge your
Mother-in-law won in a raffle last week.
The struggle humanity faces, is to live
in harmony with each other.
It cannot be resolved with cake.
You cannot bring democracy
to a country with cake.
Or can we?
What if we swapped,
Non radar detectable aircraft
For dairy delectable foodcraft,
What if we swapped
12inch shells for
12 thousand babybels?
What if we stole
RPGs and gave back
MSG’s (they’re less harmful
in the long run, if thrown at you).
What if, for once, everyone cared.
And then we’d get somewhere.
Every voice in every home
Would not be a voice alone,
And for once, we’d all agree about the fact
we like cake and democracy for all.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
To my Daddy on Father's Day
When I was young and small,
I was your little girl.
As I grew and grew,
I stayed your little girl.
Now, 18 years later,
I'm still your little girl.
When I am twenty,
Thirty,
Forty,
Fifty,
I will still be your little girl.
No matter where I go,
Or how old I grow,
I will still be,
Forever and always
Your little girl.
You were my cheerlearder,
Calling and whistling from the stands,
Since I was smaller and tinier
Than all those who played.
You were my coach,
Helping me and teaching me
Giving me confidence
Showing me what it meant to be an athlete.
I took what you taught me
And applied it to my life
Making me,
Forever and always
Your little girl.
You were my personal chef,
Teaching me to love the finer foods
And that cooking is an art.
Healthy and not
Food was to be treated specially
Cooked and baked just right.
Nothing has ever compared to what you have made.
Spoiled and exposed to the best
Making me,
Forever and always
Your little girl
You were my supporter,
When I was upset and had nowhere to turn.
You taught me to be tough
And to be strong.
You said I could do anything,
Be anything I wanted,
That being a girl made no difference.
You taught me to love myself,
To take care of myself
To defend and stand up for myself,
Making me,
Forever and always
Your little girl.
When I was small and tiny,
I was your little girl.
As I grew,
I remained you little girl.
Today
I am you little girl.
Tomorrow and the day after
I will be your little girl.
No matter where I go,
No matter how old I grow,
No matter where you are,
No matter how old you are,
I will
Forever and always
Be your little girl.
Happy Daddy's Day
I love you <3
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
I love chocolate chip cookies
Be they soft or be they crunchy
They are my favorite munchie.
I love them by the pound.
The best snack around.
My love for these cookies
Surpasses my love of ice cream.
They are more than what they seem.
They make my day and then more so.
Even though they make my **** grow.
Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.
I love chocolate chip cookies
Whether they are baked at home
Or just purchased on the roam.
If they are professionally made,
Gifted to me or I have paid.
Nothing else tickles me so much.
I start giggling when I first touch
Those delightful little sweet plops.
Don’t bother calling the calorie cops.
Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.
I love chocolate chip cookies
I know it started when I was a kid;
What those rolls of dough did
To me was transform me instantly
Almost to carbohydrate insanity.
I could eat as many as I touched;
I loved them just exactly that much
And it continued on into adulthood.
Chocolate chip cookies are that good.
Chocolate chip cookies
They are my very best friends.
I am sure these cookies
With stick with me to the end.
I can count on them to please me.
Cookies never ever tease me.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
Without you is like life without joy
Without you I know not true sweetness
Without you I am but a bitter misery
You who I made from scratch
And baked lovingly in a batch
Your delectable aroma etched in my memory
Your soft sponge so very airy
You are my sinful indulgence
Truly you are a decadence
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC
bon scott plays up a VOLCANO IN GUATEMALA
you see i start a partying in the night today
we are rocking and a rolling, yeah party, yeah
ya see we bring that volcano down to gualamala
yeah it’s about as cool as eating a banana
rock, ****** rock this volcano made ‘em rock
bring this party to the other end and rock
guatemala, is rocking tonight with malt and lava
is a rocking all night long
you see the house is a rocking, don’t bother knocking
yeah we will party, party we shall
rock this volcano, wreck the old life, WOW
i am going to get my spirit, and shake it down there
make all the people guatemala grin and ****** bare
and now i welcome slim dusty, i would love to have a beer with him
we drink in moderation dude, but our future, looks quite dim
yeah, we’ll drink in the town and country dudes
the people of guatemala feel distraught
cause we sent a big volcano, dude, from jupiter moon, that’s right
you see now we bring robert palmer in
how can it be permissible, oh yeah
this volcano in guatemala is unstoppable, ha
i wish there were ways to end it yeah
i would grab a methane and top it on ya, yeaH
It’s a strange occurrence first, it’s ****** hot, oh yer
it really destroys guatemala, dude the volcano is simply unstoppable
the walls are are shaking, the floor is melting
ya see, yeah we are covered in lava, and feel like ya melting
then i get up and look around, and i look up and see a volcano thrashing guatemala
ya see the volcano shook this town all night long
we’ll party on all night long
and then i get down and look around, to see if nobody has tipped methane on slim
you are hayley from bratayley
you are cool, the coolest dude around
i get up, and we’ll party down, we’ll drink ‘em down
then the old old man let’s out a big big frown
and i see barry allan as he walks past, i said come in bas boy, party on
and i tip a methane smoothie on barry, which shook the town of guatemala all night long
the methane shook it all night long
then slim dusty said, i will get a baked potato baked potato toast and jam
jupiter shook the guatemala volcano all night long, my dear
slim then said, watch bratayley, for me with new families, peter sergeant from canberra and ivy gimbert
and ivy and peter walked in and said, would you stop singing it up here
cause we need some COOL, for earth
baked potato baked potato, uhhhh baked potato
and then bon scott came up and said, PARTY PARTY,
and rock guatemala, while your at it, OK
AND we’ll keep this party rolling guatemala volcano malt and lava
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Your caress is silky and creamy like butter
And my darling, I'm afraid that your lingering touch will give me diabetes
Your heart crumbles like flour when I press mine against it
And beads of sugar hang like dew upon your lashes
Maybe if I blended you up into cookie dough
And baked you at 350 for 15 minutes until you were golden brown
Then I wouldn't be afraid to stroke your resplendent face
Perhaps I wouldn't wince at the thought of pressing my ear against your chest
Just to hear your confectionary heart quiver
And there wouldn't be the slightest trepidation when I kissed your intoxicating tears
But I'm afraid that I'll leave you in for too long
And your saccharine core will harden and reek of soot
And with the slightest touch, you'll be reduced to ash
And your cremated remains will get frightened at the accusatory wail of the smoke detector
And they'll seek refuge in my oven's crevices
Never to be seen again
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
you're nervous
'take a drink, it'll calm you down'
you're nervous
'here, take a hit, a little **** will do ya good'
you're nervous
'come sit next to me, I'll make sure nothing bad happens to you'
now you're drunk
now you're baked
now you're being touched, felt, caressed
but it doesn't matter.
you're no longer nervous.
you can't feel.
you don't care.
you're exactly what they want you to be
no longer timid
no longer shy
no longer nervous
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
My birthday comes in a little over 2 weeks and I think when people talk about birthdays, they are secretly talking about status in blocked hours.
Somewhere in that 24 hour block, a person was born, and that person was me. .....well Yay I guess.
I don't like my birthday. And the reasons for that, are more complicated than you think.
When I was 13, I was really into cupcake birthday cakes. I asked for one, every year, for a long time.
When I turned 15 and 16, my best friend baked me cupcakes and brought them to school for me, and I shared them with my peers. You see, I considered her my best friend, and I guess that's not enough to be the best friend.
It's like unrequited love if you put poisonous platonic friendship in my blood first.
When I turned 17, she did baked me my last set of cupcakes, but I no longer had a best friend. So I spent my birthday mentally by myself while my family sang otherwise.
And right now, I hate cupcakes, and superhero films because they remind me of her. But saying that is the weakest thing to do, since everything, reminds me of her.
I will never admit I loved her, the same way she will shamelessly say she never loved me. I can't hate her, but I can't see her without hating myself.
You know age, goes up, the same way sadness, goes down. Pulling you into another 24 hour block just so you can say.
"Hey. I made it another day."
I will admit that every day without her is another day without cupcakes, and another day without sugar is another day without happiness. And people may have asked me "How can you flip-flop between preferences like you're not the biggest homosexual in the closet." So when I tell people I'm straight, they tell me I'm not allowed to change my mind.
I loved her, but she left me and took all of my friends with her. And I thought that real friends wouldn't abandon me, but there is always time to be wrong. By the time my birthday comes, I'll be crying, and she doesn't even remember what day my birthday is on.
By the time I read this out loud, I will have been through this birthday, like a person walks through fire. Turning 16 is less about age, then it is about school, and turning 18, is less about the number, and more about becoming an adult. And no amount of adult can neutralize pain.
I have accepted the fact that no man will ever really want to marry me. And no Christian, will ever truly want to love me.
And if I am wrong, I will have to repeat this lost love forever dragging it out in my life.
And if I have kids one day, do you really think...
That I'm going to tell everyone if it's a boy or a girl...
By making blue or pink...
...cupcakes?
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 4:07 AM UTC
Just the thought of them makes your jawbone ache:
those turkey dinners, those holidays with
the air around the woodstove baked to a stupor,
and Aunt Lil's tablecloth stained by her girlhood's gravy.
A doggy wordless wisdom whimpers from
your uncles' collected eyes; their very jokes
creak with genetic sorrow, a strain
of common heritage that hurts the gut.
Sheer boredom and fascination! A spidering
of chromosomes webs even the infants in
and holds us fast around the spread
of rotting food, of too-sweet pie.
The cousins buzz, the nephews crawl;
to love one's self is to love them all.
9.7k
I went to bake some cupcakes
I was in such a merry mood
I miss the sweet creamy taste
I miss the smell of food
Human food, Monster food
Oh, its just the same
What matters is how to make it good
I call this a cooking game
A cup of flesh, and mix it well
Those smelly rotten eggs
Light the fire, the flames of hell
Let's chop these human legs
Ahh, fresh flour - I stole from the store
A little bit of sugar, a little bit of salt
Let's knead the dough, let's fetch the coal
Surely, this is not my fault
For a sudden twist, I suddenly thought
Why not stir-in some blood
The jar of of red, I quickly sought
Where's that stirring rod?
So I baked it in the ancient oven
And waited for some time
Ping! It sprung open!
Now let's give it a try!
Nothing like a meal
For a hungry half-breed
Wasn't such a deal
It was just what I need
Nothing like a Sunday
When you're not feeling mad
Nothing like cupcakes
Nothing like fresh blood
Oh, human bones!
Ack! Ugghh!!
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:41 PM UTC
1
The other day I saw a picture of you.
Shirt buttoned up to your throat,
Pants cutting off the blood circulation in your pelvis,
Shoes shining brighter than the north star,
And a smile being pulled across your cheeks
Like an archer pulling a bow string.
I smiled back at my computer screen.
2
I’ve listened to this album at least 30 times.
I own three versions of it.
UK deluxe, US deluxe, Target Deluxe.
Everything about you is deluxe.
Your eyes, your voice, your breath
As it passes through the microphone and into my ears.
3
I believe in fate
But not so much in destiny.
I don’t scream at my reflection anymore
And I’m described as independent.
For the most part.
I’m a pretty trustworthy person
And I promise I’m not that desperate.
4
The music ripples through my veins
As I whip my curls at the mirror.
The hairbrush pressed against my mouth
And I repeat the lyrics that roll past your lips so smoothly.
5
I can almost feel your arms
Wrap around my waist before I go to sleep.
I had a dream
You and I were together
And you were happy
And I was happy
And everyone was happy.
But I know if my dream became reality
No one would be happy.
Jealousy would taint the spit on other girls’ tongues
And the distance between
New Jersey and Australia is too much.
Even for me.
5
I can almost feel your arms
Wrap around my waist before I got to sleep.
5
I can almost feel you.
5
We have the same eye color.
6
We have the same hair color.
7
I am just an insecure girl.
You are taking over the world.
You are stepping in the soil of every state.
And you won’t look at me
Longer for three seconds in the New York City heat.
8
I never thought I would be one of those girls.
One of those girls
Who latch onto a boy’s identity,
Not knowing his soul
But knowing his spirit.
I’ve seen you three times.
You don’t even realize.
I try too hard and I’m convinced you notice this.
9
You are nine months older than me.
In your eyes I am just a baby.
My cocoon of pictures of you is the womb
I am being baked in.
You won’t follow me back on twitter.
10
You are just my celebrity crush
But you have such an impact on me.
Go back home.
Let me rest.
Go back to bed.
I’ll have that dream again
And I won’t speak of it
And no one has to know of this
Pathetic excuse for love I carry in me like a dead fetus.
10
You are just my celebrity crush.
It was never supposed to go this far.
10
You are just my celebrity crush.
10
You can never love me
The same way I love you.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
Paper thin top soil
Cracks seep through
Red dirt.
Bloodless gashes
Simmering summer soil
Baked turf.
Rolled gold haze
Aches as the
Country stretches its skin-
Near breaks
******** teeth
Tight white itches
Red earth fit-
To burst in a
Dark cloud of dust,
Choking soft as to soak
The moisture fresh
From your lungs.
Blinding blue sky
Set for worship
On a tall horizon
Too far, too high
For common souls-
To float on a
Breath of sweet dry air,
Eternal journey to sunset
Small piece of a dream
To chase a grey cloud
From sky to west.
Where subterranean
Creeks used to slip by
Rise in a slope of land
Where water once carved
Its roam
Now the winds sweep
All traces away
Back toward the sea,
And fair beyond
The aching dry eyes
Of the sons of
This red earth,
A mist lies awake
And prays for rain.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
It’s something that try we should
To provide the parrot its basic food
Apple minus seeds mango banana
Grape orange guava papaya
As for vegetables cooked dried bean
With beet broccoli its heart you can win
Cucumber carrot and cauliflower
They surely love like they love a shower
Corn on the cob is fun for parrot
They aren’t fussy as them you thought
Hot peppers peapod lettuce
For them delicacies you can choose
Sweet and baked potato well cooked yam
They devour in delight add to their glam
Parrots are cute friendly and nice
Give them oatmeal millet brown rice
They’re not greedy from you they won’t beg
Though these birds love scrambled boiled egg
The parrot is innocent gorgeous and sweet
Can’t call them carnivore yes they like meat
Must talk to them and not keep your mouth shut
Your loving pet the parrot loves occasional nut.
Now words of caution what don’t do them good
Candy and chocolate and all junk food
I know you are smart and not at all mean
To offer this wonder bird mushrooms caffeine
Believe my words they aren’t my opinion
Use them in your food don’t give them onion
Dairy products for them are a big ‘no’ ‘no’
You surely want them to healthily glow
Give the parrot shower keep its cage clean
Give them just fresh foods no sugar no caffeine
Say ‘no’ to pesticides choose only organic
See in their bowel nothing goes toxic
Follow what I’ve said the task is not hard
Spend your time well with this beautiful bird.
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
You are my
December because you seem to
emanate a golden glow,
quite like of parols swinging from tall streetlamps
December in how you
brush through my hair like a cool, gentle breeze
brought by the northeast wind of
clear blue skies and fair weather.
December also in the way you
wrap your arms around me
tightly, it
reminds me of my favorite warm, woolly sweater that
my dear grandma knitted for me.
You are my
December in how you
light up my eyes like
the Christmas lights that twinkle on the Christmas tree
No, actually, more like the
fireworks that set fire to
the midnight sky on New Year's Eve
December because
you are a great gift
like the secret surprises tucked under the Christmas tree
you are a sweet treat
like a gingerbread coated with colorful sugar,
freshly baked and toasty
you refresh me
like the much needed break that lasts for two weeks
You are my
December because
you leave me melting
like the mini mallows sprinkled
on my hot choco steaming
You are my
December because
I love December
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 2:34 AM UTC