"epicurean" poems
In my small, soft belly
Excitement builds.
Exquisite little judders pull
As if you possess a magnet for pleasure
And have buried deep inside me
What you want to attract.
I place my hand a little lower
And sigh, wondering why
The mere thought of you sets me a-trembling
Like a first-time racehorse, eager for the course.
I am coltish, nerves thrumming,
Imaginary music humming
Through my heart, my head.
Take me to your bed.
Take me where you will,
To all the places within you,
Make my home
your body and soul.
Eat me, I am gourmet flesh
For this epicurean adventure
I am longing personified
Oh, you - ah - you - are
perfect
Let me taste your heart.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
My quixotic escape to dreamland is
Always a whimsical amusement park
I'm an angel resting on a blade
Of humorous impracticality
A blade that hurts reality
I'm the dreamer torn between
Smooth masculine angels with the wildest dreams
Reality can slit my wings,
Scorch my blackened feathers,
And manipulate my epicurean senses
But these lucid dreams
Cleanse my slate
A dreamer's fortitude is a gentle sigh
On the eyelids
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
Billionaire: I were
been Corollary,
at the party,
and petition,
where populism,
there is no discussion,
and abolished
and the average,
the epicurean scenes,
beloved my testamentary,
and I partisan,
and raw balance of my profits,
and my diploma,
my university triumphs,
I am the planetary star,
skin and clothing
protozoan,
Legionnaire
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
at a round table a regal man sat
he of finest epicurean palate
neath his feet twas a lowly rat
no junk food twas on his plate
only the best in culinary serves
he of finest epicurean palate
the rat ate of a crumb's conserve
which twas more telling of his position
only the best in culinary serve
the king feasted on grand nutrition
he became more bloated of tummy
which twas more telling of his position
after he partook of all so yummy
the poor rat twas left in starvation
he became more bloated of tummy
for he'd have no repast of salvation
the poor rodent twas left in starvation
at a round table a regal man sat
neath his feet twas a lowly rat
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
The terrifying teeth chatter into the crimson lips of a wound up smile, chattering along the very risen table top that draws all small toys to their finite dooms. While breaths sour hour upon hour, each idling ear suffocates the last gasping breaths of its epicurean syllabic tongue, drizzling down the stomach like melt water from a cubic glacier in an ornamental silver tub, and sternly quibbles the stem-like dactyls drawing rose champagne into a fissure of the brain's tumescent humming.
Each finger tips' nail rouge and red, each dry crevice sewn into the knuckles, and a leaflet on sadism near the scratchy illegible lines whittled on the topside of the wrists and the slalom runs of the ankle. The ankle sinister. The ghost-like hallow sockets of where eyes could have once be seen. Plaster and albicant-like dying death white skins forbade from the Flushing streets where the jazz dance once began. And with each nellypotted hop, three useless nuisances could not carry the bridle towards each nearly favorite sound that curiosity enslaved man to lean towards.
The women weirded out by corners, plastic-wrapped furniture in outdoor corridors, where sinners veil their retreats into state run triage centers. Fake plastic countertops built from fake plastic trees. With an M14's muzzle stiffening and shuttering, she who vents off her cured romances will always find herself flaccid on rubber knees. The disease of the plea, is once more an affectation of not falling for royalty but instead the royal we. There is this weapon of fraud that perplexes geneticists, that enslaves heterosexuals, where albeit nor the time or place, she venerates the libations that her mind creates, she lubricates her cells, dressing, her skin ripening, heaven trickling across her humble nape, where gentleness is only a fool's disease and need.
She. We. Heathens of eternity bowing our breaths in grand hyperbole see. I see she, and she sees me.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
Nights under stars
Sand between toes
Drive-in movie cars
Freshly fallen snow
Raggedy dresses
Waterfall rainbows
Socotra trees
Ripped pantyhose
Unmatched socks
Leaves in transition
Innocence and sunflowers
Lighthouses and words written
Familiar kitchen patterns
In a stranger’s house
New Orleans architecture
A cemetery mouse
Flip-flops in winter
Zebras and block parties
Cinnamon and cloves
Whiskey and Bacardi
Candy in pillow cases
Static electricity in the dark
Barun Valley and painted faces
Houses made from tree bark
Wrap-around porches
Neon city lights
Lightning-bug torches
Thunderstorm nights
Epicurean summers
Lapis Lazuli skies
Youth prayers in rocking chairs
Heterochromatic eyes
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 3:04 PM UTC
Grievous grace, has due yesterday’s blue
Autonomous avarice enigma entity’s hue
Identity crisis guidon guile’s due
Mystic symbiosis’ existential true
Apostrophe sabbat transcendental kitsch
Consortium liaison’s libido’s glitch
Translucent opulence’s lambent’s a *****
Metaphysical mystique is black as pitch
Terrestrial equestrian tellurian's terrene
Adamant tenacity’s obtusely obscene
Obstinate loquacity spiritually serene
Maniacally meticulous dexterity’s preen
Lucid cogent fecund’s maieutic
Incarnate’s manumissional eidetic
Spatiotemporal telemetry’s fanatic
Logistical tactician’s primal ecstatic
Chicanery dynamism’s opulent fealty
Intrinsic innate retrospective cruelty
Indigenous endemic inherent frailty
Corrupt costume counselor subtlety
Gambit alluvium aloof impunity
Immunity is Epicurean absurdity
Who are we to us complicity
Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s congruity
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 1:32 AM UTC
O mother, take me there, where I find the gratifying grace,
Take me there, where I dwell in bliss,
Take me there, where I ramble in rapturous joy,
Take me to that miraculous planet and nurture me,
O mother, take me there, where I find the tantalizing nothingness,
Take me there, in to the surrealistic world and let me ponder over the nature’s allegories,
Take me to this exuberant excursion,
O mother, I have become claustrophobic, I cannot live in this enclosed space,
Take me to the infinity where I have no confinity,
Take me through the valleys of sunshine and glory,
O mother, Let me live the eternal love,
Let me smell the soil,
Let me hear the choirs of sea,
Let me be an epicurean,
Let me squelch and tread on the planet,
Let me see the picturesque of nature,
Let me lay my body on the roots of heaven,
Let me dandle on your knees,
Let me construe the dappled sky,
Let me live and leave,
O mother, instigate your benign impulsion,
I long to see you and the world,
I want to be resurrected,
O mother, I loved you before I knew, I believed in you before I knew.
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Boiled peanuts , caviar for us southern gentlemen , cooked all night , lightly salted ! Sold at the side of the road by friendly farmers , thick accented entrepreneurs quick to tell a joke or relay a bit of gossip ! Cool mornings , colorful hardwood leaves and the aroma of these epicurean delights are as familiar as Magnolia blossoms , sorghum syrup and homegrown peaches in the Summertime !
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC
I tasted you the moment we met
Our eyes meeting… the tranquil waters of the ocean
Our hands touching… strong and worn like the Earth herself
Our lips forming words and smiles… a private dance shared between us
And then we parted, nothing left but the sweetness to savor
You knew nothing, it was my own private taste, my own private moment
I was cute, and shy… always “cute” and “shy”
You were proud and beautiful… like a mountain that needs nothing more than to be, to display its glory.
What hope had I that that single taste would become a feast
But I would taste you again, your essence a vivid memory on my tongue
And so we did meet again and again, mingling and parting
Eyes, hands, lips… all practicing for some other destined occasion
And you, becoming a craving, the desired main course for a starving woman
After a time, I had lost hope of quenching my thirst of you
As your flavor seemed to get lost on my tongue,
Nothing more than a vague memory… an aftertaste
I began resigning myself to a life of fast food and leftovers
Oh, I had tasted… dined… on others
But none could compare to your flavor, water to honeyed mead
Or perhaps it was your flavor mingled with my own
That created some epicurean delight that my senses could not let go of
And just as I had reconciled my life to TV dinners and mac and cheese… there you are
Eyes, hands, lips, coming to mingle and dance once more
Letting me taste you again, and again
Floating on my tongue like sweet ambrosia
Our meeting, glances and gazes…
Our touching, hands, shoulders, backs, thighs…
Our dance, the words and smiles,
Go late into the night
And you remain, the taste becoming an appetizer… a prelude of the dinner yet to come
Then a single promise… dance… kiss
And as if we had practiced enough,
I taste you again… and drink you whole.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Epicurean fantasies of being
Soaked up when teething
Gazing at a sightless ceiling
Missed nomenclatures peeling
Words drunk up like simple soda
**** lucky we ain’t in South Dakota!
Hallows Eve found in backwards verse
Picked up from a costumed nurse
Slung loose upon a stage
Taking on details ill equipped for the page.
Words drunk up like simple soda
**** lucky we ain’t in South Dakota!
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
A wraparound escalier
Rosette's to wrap ourn Dud's
Rebels to society
Low and high class thugs
Epicurean phenomenon!!!!
A Cosmo's to macroism's
Plasma to holy force
Phatom's of ourn own opera
As yen to take its course
Homage to ourn own castle!!!
Excretion to bare ourn name
Wild gluttons
Barbarian untamed
Spelling eachother's name
In hieroglyphic memorandum!!!
We shalt travel beyond old Egypt
We shalt gun the pagodas
We shalt peep the shrines of gosha
As in giants we shalt become!!!
A convent well maketh many babies
Basilica's of the angels
Seraph's of treaties
Shalt we sign ourn admiration in blood?
Tis
Yes
Tis
Love!!!
Kirks to keep ourn reme
mberance
Friary's to be attentive
As the mutuality
Shalt be sweet mine aimer!!!!
No distance shalt be to far
No rancor to blow ourn hearts
No hot mustard to stain out tarts
As Madrid shalt wrap us between acacia posie's!!!!
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
I found you in the embers
of a burning fire
because I was stupid enough
to follow the trail of smoke
out against a yellow sky,
right into the thunderous wrath of you.
I should've just left you there—
in the trenches of the universe
where nothing is worthy enough of anything;
In the pit of the fallen feathers
picked from a murdered Angel’s gracious wings.
Like the wicked thief you are
you abandoned me
as you tied a splintered rope to my foot,
knotted it into the bottom of the earth,
and flew your way to the top
with the shattered pieces of my heart
that you lost in yours.
Vicious and ****** you were,
though I was trying to hammer you a shield.
Bruised and battered you left me,
though all I gave you was an outlet to the Epicurean Philosophy.
Rugged claws is all that’s left of me
and a silence so loud in it’s wake
I can’t hear myself think.
I haven’t spoken a real word
since you touched me,
So I listen to the rain pour
down in it’s muttering rhythms
at the bottom of the ocean
while the chest beneath
the heart you split open
caves in.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
I thought I am the man with epicurean appetite,
But it seems verily wrong as I realized the life around me is lingering on me with insatiable appetite,
Consuming my life nibblingly every moment,
Time is taking away my life with it's ubiquitous presence,
Water is leaking my life with every gulp,
Every breath I drew,it is drawing me thither where I evaporate myself,
With Every foot I feet on the earth,
the land is feeding on me as a friction and motion,
Planet is ******* my energy to spin around,
Space is trying to include me from my secluded life,
Life is taking away my life with every sentient moment,
I am walking every moment towards grave,
I am neither manufacturer nor destroyer,
So let me give away this life gracefully,blissfully,rather sinking hurtlingly in the Schadenfreude, melancholy and other non-sensical amalgamations,
Do I want to add some meaning to this meaningless life...
Or let it float in the thoughtless aura,
which is a conduit to the rendezvous with the creation,
Because that is where it is lying the lilting immortality I had not seen..
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
Over indulgence makes my world
Restraint is not a word
Eating all within your path cold logic becomes a farce.
You get one chance grab the tail nothing ventured kind of fails
Believe in you simple fact.. no act
**** up this world in it's twists it turns
Whilst stoicism quietly burns.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
Sensuous
Is mi amour'
Voluptuous
Is mi amour'
Epicurean
Is mi amour'
Gourmet
Is mi amour'
Sybaritic
Is mi amour'
Fervid
Is mi amour'
Beckoning
Is mi amour'
The way she speaketh
Mi amour'
The way she loves me
Mi amour'
Like no other
Mi amour'
Exquisite
Mine mi amour'
Mine all
Mine everything
Mine soul
Mine heart
Mine flesh
Mine bones
Mine other half
Just the start
Mine hands
Mine feet
Mine voice
Mine hearing
Mine words
Mine singing
Mine song
For
Mi amour'
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 8:43 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Jul 2, 2022
Jul 2, 2022 at 12:01 AM UTC
prosaic prologues bewitch
feeble minded scribe doth undertake
tend toward lugubriousness ring tone
for goodness sake
echoing across,
a figurative lake woebegone, where quake
shutters latched storm windows,
clapped closed winter season didst make
physical environment lachrymose
analogous to imp pond durable dark lake
where sits inside secluded hut,
this fledgling author named Jake
a former cub (scout) at a loss
to string together an aria
tomb other nature and NOT FAKE,
sepulchral paeon to divine Gaea, Mother Earth
especially incorporating
mutisyllabic (sesquipedalian) words,
which exertion
on par with giving birth
(or so I guess),
a particularly heavily pregnant laden dearth
of help mates, doubling demonstrably
deadly duty devoid of mirth
totally tubular taxing toll,
an essentially unbearable
effort with bulging girth
whereat digestion consumes
latent mental ambition,
especially toasty warm near the hearth
which hitherto unknown to any reader
twas Xmas fabrication and fiction
no crime committed, nor animals harmed
in the making of diction
aery necessary entrapping unsuspecting intellect
to comprehend somber benediction
unless perchance one lone wolf
bait Oven English Major
with Westernization
topped off with a European
debunaire suave acculturation
even luckier if hypothetical personage
dips daintily into forays epicurean,
though careful,
and alert since church fathers
would frown on parsonage
whose natural born ardor,
a spiritual abduction
stealing austerity, complacency, and objection
toward forced irrational schemas
averse to abnegation
unfair imposition
to foist upon pruriant predilection
also impossible mission
to sequester arbitrary animal urges,
punishing call of the wild,
sowing seeds a ******** accusation
considered averse,
then imposition contrition!
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
All are invited to taste-test a French meal, free-of-charge, at the
Table of near west side Chef Louis. The first course will be a
Salade Niçoise, prepared the usual way – vegetables, salad greens
From the Periwinkle family, des oeufs durs et des olives ‒ Flavored with a pinch of myrtle. Those so inclined may have escargots instead. Louis will pop the cork on a vintage vin rouge.
The main course: canard à l’orange, spécialité de la maison.
Known far and wide as the best duck in town, it has a secret sauce
Including the bird’s bone marrow, and is a favorite of Paul Soglin;
Hizzoner has been showing up brandishing a “ditch Walker” sign.
While the cuisine is incomparable, the dinner music, too, is
Délicieuse. In town for only a week is the diva, Renée Fleming,
Accompanied by the virtuoso cellist, Yo-Yo Ma. To forestall the
Entry of hordes of fans, Louis will have the louvers closed.
The wait staff will be in the wings with the *dessert du jour, Crêpes
Suzette* – using the best Orange Curaçao ‒ before a small frigate
Is unmoored for return to the Lesser Antilles to pick up a new
Stash. Louis is a total service restauranteur, and he has vowed to
Let all his guests take a selfie, with him, Yo-Yo and Renée, in the
Private chef’s booth, in just a glimmer of the day’s remaining light.
Though he’s unbearded, Louis uses Brilliantine regularly to help
Him attract the most voluptuous of available dates. *Mais, prenez
Garde, mes demoiselles, Louis est français, après tout….*
© Lewis Bosworth, 7-2017
Jul 17, 2017
Jul 17, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC