"creamed" poems
No sprouted wheat and soya shoots
And Brussels in a cake,
Carrot straw and spinach raw,
(Today, I need a steak).
Not thick brown rice and rice pilaw
Or mushrooms creamed on toast,
Turnips mashed and parsnips hashed,
(I'm dreaming of a roast).
Health-food folks around the world
Are thinned by anxious zeal,
They look for help in seafood kelp
(I count on breaded veal).
No smoking signs, raw mustard greens,
Zucchini by the ton,
Uncooked kale and bodies frail
Are sure to make me run
to
***** of pork and chicken thighs
And standing rib, so prime,
Pork chops brown and fresh ground round
(I crave them all the time).
Irish stews and boiled corned beef
and hot dogs by the scores,
or any place that saves a space
For smoking carnivores.
21.8k
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
*Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 2:09 AM UTC
(Quote by Spike Milligan)
One very wise man sat and said
That, long before this world is dead
This planet’s problems won’t be solved
By reasoning which, though now evolved,
has got us, where we now do sit,
Afloat neck deep in mankind’s ****
There’s SARs, Ebola, AIDs, Bird flu
And in the woodwork, West Nile too,
Each replicating viral spat
To mutate, (at the drop of a hat),
To complicate enviro’s stew
Of global degredation’s brew.
Urban spread and over stocking
**** deforestation’s shocking,
Depletion of aquatic life
Intrinsically creating strife,
Industrial pollution’s goo
Ozone depletion... ALL FOR YOU!
Environmental degradation
Means the world’s a weaker place,
Susceptible to malady
Wide spread across the human race.
Those animals in corn fed stalls
Who never get to see the sun
Or graze green grass where honey bees
Are vanquished by varroha’s fun.
Too late to save the Hector’s dolphin
Conservation’s lost it’s tools,
Rastafarian hootchie smokers,
Save the whales to **** the fools.
Governments sell the carbon credits
Everybody smells a rat
Restorations for the birds
And social conscience creamed the cat.
****** greenies own the airwaves
No one gives a flying ****
That good artesian water’s poisoned
By good farmer’s leached out muck.
CO2 in global warming
Sings it’s song of fast decline
Glacial retreat a-roaring
Bass relief in blood *****
I guess the little children’s future
Most depends on lady luck,
Humankind in mass denial
Most don’t give a flying ****
Marshalg
In retreat to Taranaki’s green haven in the gales of the equinox.
21 September 2011
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
Cue the banjo solos
and the violin swells.
Sleeping children in
withering weeping willow
high chairs
covered in creamed carrots.
Young cherry blossom lovers
shout curses,
shatter floodgates,
let tears flow;
petals are brushed away
by the wind.
Widows and over-easy eggs,
crossword puzzles and
sad irony on fifteen across -
"Murdered, 'Ides of March.'"
The weight of their fatigue
growing dark and heavy
under their eyes.
A waitress breaks silence,
"More coffee?"
A sleeping child awakes,
crying under the brightness
of the morning sun.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
I get laughed at,
I get ignored,
I often feel trapped,
and keep my thoughts stored.
People can be cruel and very mean,
but no matter what,
I follow my dreams
Life has waves,
I know that.
But I stand brave,
and just take the crap.
I may feel exhausted and totally creamed,
but no matter what,
I follow my dreams.
I know what I want,
and I won't stop trying.
Quitting? I can't,
for now I'm flying.
It's impossible, it seems,
but no matter what,
I follow my dreams...
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
There is a storm
gathering in
my womb
soon to explode
into a thousand
crimson stars
lighting up
my veins with fire
and unraveling
deep-set,
knotted scars
and the gentle rage
outside my window
presses on, inside my head
as I lie here,
my thoughts twisted
in a cozy, yet empty bed
my thoughts unfurl
in misty haze
curl into
smoky
rouge
as nightsky thunder rolls
into creamed saxophone
deluge
the snare drum beats
in firelight
ripple sheets
in silky flutter
as my fingers strum
my womanly instruments
into loamy, primal butter
my voice in quiet utterance
as the heavens open
to heavy rains
that liquefy
my desert
hydrate my
bare-soul caves
so I electrify my echoes
into fruited, crystal drips
frothing up my
cherry wine
upon these moistened,
hungry lips
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 9:36 AM UTC
I draw her close to my chest
With her ****** pointing out from her underwear like an arrow
Slowly removing her underwear arm by arm and kissing the smooth shoulder
As I pull the two arms of her underwear the underwear fell out of her body slowly
I can see her pointed ****** calling me for a ****
Picked up an ice-cream, rubbing it gently and slowly all over her smooth soft and attractive ebony skin
From her face to her toes(all over her body)
All her body is covered with ice-cream
And she screamed baby is cold and warm
Slowly I started giving her a tongue bath
From her fore-head to her cheek to her nose to her lips
Paused a little as I deep my tongue into her two attractive lips and hers into mine
We exchange tongues for minutes
Down to her neck, wiping all the ice-cream with my lips gently and slowly
As she started to scold
Down to her chest l **** up the cream on her chest
Holding her pointed breast as I kiss and **** her ****** slowly
She scream softly and faintly "aahh hmmm that's it baby she said"
down to her **** tommy
With my tongue going angle at a point on her stomach
I Started again from her toes **** all her ten toes one after each other slowly
To her knees
She started shaking as I approach her **** ice-creamed laps
The volume of her screams increase slowly as am kissing her laps and going upward to her tight ice-creamed *****
Her legs shakes heavily and her body started shaking
She shuddered softly as my tongue rolled over her ****
she started to scold, but moaned softly as my tongue pressed at her **** harder
she lifted her head up looking at me as I shake my head side by side with my tongue holding the **** harder
She dropped her head as she murmured "hmmmm" faintly
She started to push me away gently not that she don't want more but because is over-sensitive
I grabbed her back
While I continue to **** her deeply into her ***** slowly and gently
As she raise her head again holding my head toward her *****
Pressing my head harder towards her ***** as my tongue was deep into her ***** and my thumb press her **** and shaking it side by side
Please," she whined breathlessly to me.
"Please. Faster." I withdrew my tongue and gently took her ****
in my teeth and wriggled it back and forth quickly. Her legs
jumped and she cried out, pushing with her arms again. I
grabbed her hips and pull closer
"Oh... Aaaaaah ... I'm so close," she whined. I circled her ****
with my nose and pressed my tongue back inside her, flicking it
in and out quickly to the sound of her gasps.
"Just... Ah... Almost..." She gasped when it hit her, and her body
quickly shuddered,
She slowly dropped her head as she removed her hand on my head
So I licked at the inside of her thigh, where the *** had sound
up, and continued to clean her up with my tongue
everything tensing and relaxing for several
moments before she relaxed back into the floor,
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Welcome Back To This, Your Isle
The rabbits beneath the deck,
Even the pesky deer who eat the shrubbery,
Sea creatures, living and spirits of the dead,
Lying on the paths and in the creeks of Silver Beach,
All inquire:
Was it better wherever you went?
Were the:
Bears, hiding in the forests outside Berlin,
Eagles, double headed, of Russia
Herring, fried, creamed, wined,
From the vendors on the docks of
Helsinki, Riga, Visby and Tallinn,
Salmon, smoked and cured in Stockholm,
More impressive,
Tastier than our striped bass,
Island cohorts of yours, who waited patiently
For their chronicler to return?
Did the Little Mermaid and her Dolphin
Guardians of the Port of Copenhagen
Welcome you more warmly than your friends,
The ospreys, lizards, turtles and owls
Who overwatch your steps and safety
When hiking in Mashomack Preserve?
Are the interlacing tidal creeks,
Woodlands, fields, salt marshes and the ragged,
Irregular but charmed coastline of this cherished island
Any lesser than those of Scandinavia?
Are the sea-going ferries that transverse the
Baltic Sea and the Gulf of Finland,
More poetic than the Menantic or the Lt. Joe,
Who carry you swiftly home to us?
The National Geographic people say that in
Tivoli Gardens, The Amerikaner (ha!) waffle ice cream cone
Is one of the ten best in the world.
Guessing they have not made it yet to the
Tuck Shop for some Moose Tracks!
Were you unaware that our isle settled before
Peter the Great ever envisioned creating the grand
Boulevards of his capitol, St. Petersburg,
Route 114 was a traveled forest path,
By settlers and Indians, not serfs.
Of the Treasures, the Gold Room of the Hermitage,
The Amber Room of Catherine's Palace,
Wrote not a single word, we observe.
Your attentions, they did not deserve?
The answers all, self evident.
Here, surrounded by the gentle breezes of
Long Island Sound and Gardiners Bay,
Sweet and salty flavors of the Peconic atmosphere,
Words unlocked, from your eyes to the page fall,
Smudged by joyous tears, for the muses of the island
Have embraced you yet again and rebirthed
Inspiration, within their comforting, sheltering grasp.
Silver Beach
July 22, 2012
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
**"how can you be in bed so fast?
we just got home five minutes ago?"***
*You got girlie stuff to do babe.
unlock the front door,
thirty steps
to our bed.
maybe stop to basketball shoot
***** clothes into a swish
of the hamper's netting
or,
maybe not.
turn off the overhead left handed in
a single motion, a highlight video,
both left foot socks
hid in the snow boots,
outside the front door.
you understand.
my unseen
girlie stuff,
requires me in state of ******
while you be
prepping.
face washed, creamed,
hair n' tooth brushed,
other stuff,
unmentionable.
am doing
my thing...
my girlie stuff*
starting a
poem interruptus
my pre-Coitus exercise,
just a new love poem
conception,
initiated,
doing my thing,
waiting on you
primped n'pumped,
décolletage clad,
to give me that
girlie stuff
closing stanza
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
And what do I serve with tea?
Of a cake layered with words - a slice
A croissant with stirring smilies
A quiche with quaint archaic spice -
Fresh from a poet's repository.
In the clink and chime of quills and pots
And spoons that stir the brewing tea
Dark or creamed, winter or spring
Here's to a cup of poetry.
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
she wanted my soul
so I cut off a finger,
noting that this little pinky offering,
came from the same hand,
who, who went to the market
to buy her a love poem
all her own, because,
it was from the self same hand
that wrote:
*who, can cut a soul into pieces,
no one!
so one will still ask you,
who!
who will love you
in whole poems,
that are both past and future tensed
composite composted,
from words overly overused,
but still foolishly feeling brand new
when referencing you,
so you can believe with new fool-thinking,
this is your sole composition*
she wanted my heart,
applauded her determination,
gave her one eye to see me instead better,
so the visions she essays, to write,
like when I sit down to write
of women I’ve loved but!
they do not come from my heart pieces,
but from inside insight from of parts
that are blind to everything
but raucous untamable invisible desire
she asked me for all the world’s wisdom,
while standing on one legging,
I simply said, here I am,
telling you I’ll love you the way you requested,
if only to be loved in return
so with one eye and one leg,
you will observe, two is not more
than the sum of the parts of one love,
as I count to ten on my nine fingers
fingers that wrote of love not enough,
no matter how many he gave up
she wanted my brainiac left hemisphere,
said, sure,
the left side of me is where the baby poems
are created, and then angel-released when ready,
when needed, now that I
see you’re needy for pieces,
but still mistaken that pieces can be reconstructed into
a whole with spit and spirit
and an overarching imagination -
no!
the whole comes from only a holy place extracted
from the hole-in-one that is my entirety
give me then your utter essence,
the place of you
I, only I know exists, must exist,
but cannot touch to see
where you keep it hidden
from all the women who love you,
better than you even love yourself
if you want that, then collect it,
for it exists and lives on
in every woman that asked for nothing,
but was rewarded with more
than a thousand poems,
stored in stars, for her,
to be creamed and cleansed,
when she plucked them
from the night in the galaxy where exist
love poems, only
to she-one shone-shine
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 1:48 PM UTC
I
Am
An american
I take too much.
I take everything for granted.
I have more than enough food to feed a family of ten,
Why not waste a meal or two,
who am I really hurting?
I don’t see the scars I’ve dug down deep in the skin of others.
I don’t know the pain I’ve caused.
The wounds are oozing over but,
I don’t have to worry because
Momma says “shh, baby, it’s okay”
If only she knew that I’ve sent a 6 year old boy in a grown mens battlefield,
land mines and bullets surround him,
I’m corned by MTV re-runs and empty Pepsi cans.
I’ve never had to deal with the pain of watching my mother be beaten in front of my eyes
Just to instill my loyalty
I’ve never watch everything I love burn down to the ground,
I’m too busy chatting up the latest blockbuster movie.
The money won’t pay for the 9 kids walking the streets,
It’s not much of a game when theres actual lives on the line.
They’ve been bashed and bruised,
Claiming their okay,
Even they know Mona Lisa has a fake smile.
I wish I could show the demons I’ve sent out in the world
They’ve been torturing the souls of the weak and hopeless
I’m hopeful I’ll catch the next Jersey shore episode.
How can you expect me to understand my devastation
when I’m told it isn’t even my fault.
I’ll never be able to tell you all of the wrongs that I’ve done, because I don’t even know what they are.
They’ve been melted and creamed in a blender
Take a sip from the cup of destruction
Genghis Kong
would be proud.
I guess I’ve taken too many steps in the wrong direction,
make an exception
because the expectation, is that
I can’t be the one to blame.
My pride is set before the fall of ours,
I’ll never get to see where they land.
Maybe they can find their way to a place where they can hurt people freely.
They’ll take too much.
Take everything for granted.
They’ll waste a meal or two
But,
Who aren’t they really hurting?
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
a holiday feast
turkey and mashed potatoes
dressing and gravy
creamed corn, cranberries, cornbread
greens and sweet potato pie
she watched her children
all bright eyed and excited
enjoying their meal
as they left the lot she thought
“Some day...we’ll have it at home.”
Del Maximo
© December 8, 2009
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 2:24 PM UTC
I'm in the mush, in the creamed corn
I used to float like a log
They cut me down, but I'm still trapped
More than ever before
There's a **** in the side of her red dress
Hem is an awful mess
With happy feet they move
But skeletons don't dance here
Cause a man from another place
Is stirring the soup
These pentacles have tentacles
That water a rotting root
But fire's not all bad
If your twin flame walks with you
And he's waiting
And she's waiting
On the other side
Immobile and free
I'm on a never-ending quest
For the impossible, I guess
Still I wait for the alloy to break
The dye to fade
Before I reach for the white paint
I'm in the mush, in the creamed corn
I used to float like a log
They cut me down, but I'm still trapped
More than ever before
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
We share blood you and I,
and have shared
golden pocketed memories, sticky ice-creamed fingers
back seats,smelly packs of cheese and onions crisps
and jokes about the two in the front arguing over directions,money- us.
Yet we couldn't be more polarized,
Your a young soul but your older,
you used to whisper scandalous grown -up things
and I would swallow your information as gospel.
Under sapphire skies,
I'd follow you around just wanting your attention
and I know now how annoying it must have been
to have a whiny little sister wanting you to play Barbies.
And I won't lie,
I love you most days and hate you the rest
for all those times you'd beat me up(really just a punch)
and pronounce me the Loch-ness monster and call me fat.
It'll always be Love/Hate with you and I
I'm the chalk and your the cheese
but you make me laugh until my sides ache
and I know you love telling me the news of your latest exploit.
There's a camaraderie well that implied,
I've got your back and you've got mine.
we table tennis tease but we both draw a line
and we won't cross it.
because we share blood you and I,
despite nurture over nature
or blood is thicker than water
know this big brother
I love you as a person.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 5:28 PM UTC
in the gray,
milky silence
of the morning…
before we smell the hiss of bacon
before the smog licks
the creamed crimson sky
before we hear the scurrying simian stream
(of which we are a inexorable part)
before the pungent circles
of Michelin and Firestone
have their daily chat
with the asphalt
before we wake to all
this grotesque grandeur
to once again
kneel, supplicant
against the wheel
before we turn the key
to ignite the spark
to fetch the fire within,
we were with Morpheus,
perchance
dreaming of greater gods
of light,
before
the cluttered clatter
of this unholy day
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 1:14 PM UTC
She’s a go-getter,
A real achiever,
Ambition burns her,
Dreams filled with fever.
Lipstick, red and slick,
Ears, gold spins and spirals,
Hair, long and beautifully curled,
Skin, supple and smoothly pearled.
Neck, exposed and proud,
Shoulders, open and marbled,
Chest, creamed and perfumed,
Hips, mini-skirted and revealed.
Posterior, raised and inviting,
Interior, poised and excited,
Exterior, rosy and aroused,
Inferior, dirty and discarded.
Money showers her at the town table,
Attention applauds her in the tabloid papers,
Men wine and dine her up and down the land,
Silken beds caress her shapely legs and soft hands.
Flaunted,
Used,
Abused,
Dreams sold.
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC
you rise and fall like a symphony
(My silk screen diaphanous breeze)
I swim through your History,
(the coral reef of vivid crazy textured nonsense love)
saturated by the light refracted
into your marine metropolis
I coalesce into your voice
(melted butter creamed currant pastry)
and unfurl evenly.
(your solvent arms
propel my luck to fill every container
of your buoyant sounds)
you dance on my sidewalks like
Charlie Brown’s gang
(bobbing caricatured spreading smiley joke random)
you take my crinkling brow
and soften its creases
like newly pugged clay
Be my crutch,
my original thought,
my epiphany,
(reshaping nuance unforeseen renew reold aspiration),
my false laugh
(when I get hurt and love you too much to show it)
my recorded comfort
weaving precious merriment around my every gesture
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
Here they come to seek a symbol
of seaside sun - a cruise ship
castaway, beached,rain stained,
landlubbers hamock and griddle.
But first they collapse me and curse me.
Doing it properly should be
part of their curriculum vitae,
a test of nationality.
Then I'm candy flossed, ice creamed, Blackpool
rocked, salted and crisped, generally stuffed,
while they lie back, roast and relax.
Good job it's not a nudist beach.
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 1:48 PM UTC
Her name was Cné, Lizzy, Santita, Tangerine
she told me she was new in town, fresh upon, the scene
we danced the tango, mamba
we loved in the horizontal thunda
and I know she was in splendor, the moment that, she creamed
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:28 AM UTC
Grandma Clarice,
or Chub as I prefer to call her,
is tough as nails.
All 90 pounds of her on her
not-even-five-feet-tall-frame,
she always told the funniest jokes,
and her laugh was one of
those laughs
that just
reverberated so warm against your
eardrums,
contagious like the
common cold,
you couldn't help but catch it.
Chub always made the best pies,
any kind your gluttonous mind could
imagine:
cherry, blueberry, apple, peach, lemon chiffon, anything creamed;
don't get me wrong,
my mama inherited the gene,
her peach pie my absolute favorite
in the summertime,
but still,
mama learned from the master, and Chub was
the master indeed.
Chub was witty,
she was poised,
she was so many things that I
don't even feel like I ever really have figured out
what all she was, she is.
But I can't deny the
memories I have of Chub
smiling
as I played Christmas tunes on the piano,
looking collected and cool as she
whipped up another perfect meal,
her voice inquisitive as she
asked me about school,
the teacher in her proud yet astute.
Chub can't remember anymore,
but I remember for her,
the laughter, the
impeccable odors wafting from her all-white kitchen,
the late night games of Rummikub,
that tough-as-nails Chub who will always
exist in my
memories.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
Everybody is a story
Every heartbreak is a song
Everybody hides a secret
Every sinner knows his psalms...
I've felt the heartbeat in the flames,
I've seen the iris in the hurricane
But this is poison wrapped in ******
with a whiskey chaser to numb the pain.
It was as if we dreamed each other
strawberry-creamed each other on the 3rd of July
The nighttime sky cracked and cried all over the mountainside,
on the eve of the fireworks.
The galaxy grinned
and bliss blushed when we kissed,
but now I miss my lips on the nape of your neck,
and the smell of your skin in the candlelight.
I thought I saw a wild rose
growing in a field of clover
I thought I heard a tune in you,
but now that song is over.
...We are birds of different feathers
We are rain dogs in disguise
We are trees in early autumn,
reaching for the dusk-lit skies.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC
Rushing and racing to dead end driveways full of people
the cars and carts jostle for space on a thin highway
above another highway taking people fleeing from
one part of the city to another, unafraid
of speed, policemen and political rallies
that spring up with orchids blooms and svelte
women in jasmine pink and brocade dreams
of stardom on every giant poster that
speaks a commercial language of
love and lust and night queens in dingy cubicles
selling tanned and creamed bodies
to the almighty dollar.
Come night and the city lights sparkle necklaces
of pearls and petulant lips beckoning you
into the paradise clubs where masseurs knead
you wallet and your wads of fat flesh in a satisfying
slumber of sorts.
Watch out for the snake eyed policeman
who has a forked tongue and licks the wisps
of air, for sent of bribe and drugs that could be planted
on your person. He cares a **** if you spend
a lifetime in prison arguing your lost case
forever.
Nothing will change in a day or year
or eternity as long as the city covers all its
people with a corruption of senses.
Author Notes
Its all true.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Once you drove up in your
1977 Mercedes,
I could feel the hurried pulsation of a weary heart
over the clattered groan of your engine.
Clambering into my seat, I folded in on myself,
too timid to fold into you instead.
Creamed leather seats on a rusted turquoise shell
I look to the back, expecting some residue
of the last lipstick crush that you set fire to.
Instead, I found $1 books from the library
and your worn regalia that I would’ve stolen
and kept as filthy souvenirs.
A deep inhale of your burnout sheesha
that bobby pinned to tired marrow in my bones -
I would’ve taken you right then and there.
Instead, we played coy with the thin fabric of a relit friendship
and talked poetry and music over a ceramic bowl
of coconut chicken curry.
But all I romanced was a clustered cocktail
of my favorite things:
The drag of my curious fingertips
underneath your prickled jaw.
This fever building as I curl into your arms
and the corrupted graze of your hungry lips
in the groove of my neck.
Temptation at its finest.
Such promise between two starved pilgrims
But the descent down to the deep V between hips
is a sweet flame that
can easily burn you and leave pin pricked stains.
So its a good thing that I let you go.
October 17, 2013 4:38 PM
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC
Sounds swarming
But quite alarming
College babes
Like___ Slimfast
Drink___ fast
Loves never last
Dorming ****
X box Assassin Creed
Video gifts Elfering
Twitter featuring
The Rattlesnake
*********
My sweet
surrender
Sangria
stuttering
Big mistake
The sangria
Clever mastering
The place was
bugged
That Drunk
No comedy act
Ben Stiller
All Gigs **** her
GIF ruff stuff
Gold digger bluff
Hangover cliff
Her bedroom eyes
Tonight the
Holy water
I phone Maria
Sangria suits him
Just the ring fighter
Ratfinks website
White being
creamed
Drink Kahlia
I won't
My dream drink
Sangria
Saint
My love, you ain't
He is singing
Maria
Strong hangover
with mudpack
Malaria
Drink playmate
All geared up
Generous Gina
Montezuma revenge
The Saint lounge
Competition
How she flaunts
her drinks inferior
Writing a poem
missing
some fonts
((His Tatoo))
the bomb drinker
Pineapple chunks
Bayou
water ripe ripples
Leftover drunks
Mon Cheri *******
Acting like a Saint
Terri spiritual Rumi
The drink scruples
relationship
sandstorm
Riders of
Morrisons
Heirs of beer
At the dorm
The ((Psychic Alarm))
Your drink woke
you up
****** humor
potential
Sangria
Someone was singing
I just met a girl
named Maria
((Harry Potter Hogwarts))
San Antonio
Met Maria
What a belly wash
Drinking up
Alcoholic Darts
Sanguine
Difficulty
pregnancy
Two lovers
liking Maria
Optimistic
Smoothing in
Sangria
He has
a Margarita____*
Mexican
Cancun
Margaret
upbeat
down to her
last drink
Sangria tank
Egyptian Army
buddy drinking
Like a
sandbank
Computer
Clickbank
Lions and coins
sandblasting
Morons
multitasking
Bermuda sounds
Sandpipers
And globetrotters
My Saint
of Sangria
Barcelona
Goddess
On her drenched
Sangria
mattress
She could
have done
his Bio
((That SanAntonio))
((Hostess)) Gia
Lollobrigida
Tony was singing
out to Maria
Her wings
of liquor
The Saint moves
quicker_______
Cabaret stripper
Natalie let me
entertain you
Surprise the
sanitarians
Flipping homes
Drinking up
Their Sangria
My Saint
Bella
Mama Mia
You arrived invite
your friends
No Maria______!!
Drinks on me
Schools out
But Sangria
Stays in we party
Way out
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC