"impeded" poems
a honey bee stung me
not because I disturbed the remnants of his hive
or stepped on the flower he sat upon
I watched puzzled as he struggled on the ground
after burying his sword in my arm
thus sacrificing himself
in honor of his brothers and his queen
you see
he was the last
he had no voice to tell me of their fate
the destruction we'd wrought
on this docile creature
this creator of sweet nectar
the sting was brief and I brushed it away
and continued on
as we all do when only temporarily impeded
unaware
the sting about to come
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
Mother superior had dropped the gun,
Seeing the victim was her very own son.
There a saint was made to run
Drowned before the rising sun.
Messiah born on the first day of June,
Posing as a religious boon.
Preaching that the end is soon,
All in a tone resembling Sinatra’s croon.
Superiority held in the form of prayer,
Faith maintained at the behest of a dare.
Professor Lodz has lost his bear.
The Omega deemed this loss as fair.
Tammuz is smoking all the vegetation
Asherah has stopped all gestation,
Coming from a fit of ************
Working on a new form of taxation.
Jesus just took one huge dumb,
In the sink after snorting a quick bump.
The man had reached quite the slump.
Catching HPV from Fergies’s ****
Mohammad is eating all the pork.
Using hands, forgetting the fork.
******* chicks, with all kinds of torque,
Misinterpreting the path of a wayward stork.
Dinning on delicious swine.
And the finest forms of delicate wine.
Prophets of the world align.
And drink from the deceased Christopher Reeve’s spine.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
as clear as ice, in night or day
reflecting faintly, a soulful reverie
reminding its presence subtly
dewdrops dripping rhythmically
standing in the way, an invisible wall
trying to reach the distant horizon
of which, birds appear and disappear
like speckles of black in orange canvas
eyes—blank and expressionless
mournfully staring in quietude
of the distant mountains and hills
and clouds floating idly
in monotone silence,
a hand reaches out only to be impeded by a cold caress
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 7:03 AM UTC
LOVE? Connotative of so many different things, one conjures up vastly intricate definitions of the word. To what extent their truth reaches is indicative of their author’s own relationships, childhood, future and past. To be asked what love truly is, is to allow another to peer inside of your soul, to reach the depth and breadth of your entity and to relinquish your fears and dreams to them, simultaneously. Asked today for my opinion, I deferred my response, realizing I myself hadn’t considered a solid definition. Seemingly such a simple concept; really a foundational core, underpinning our self worth, self adoration and self identity.
Love is unique, to everyone. It can be explained through the use of analogies. Stereotypes. In some ways, our ‘idealistic love’ is a window for our selfish, impeded selves to climb out of. We expect our lover to propel us into some sort of surreal, unchallenged fairy-tale romance, irregardless of the modern day reality we’re living out. We expect worlds to stop, planets to align and stars to shower upon us in some picturesque dream come true. However, referring to love in stereotypes can be impersonal and superficial. I find love can be best defined by a persons own experiences, dreams, fears and desires.
A lover can help realize and form these definitions.
To me, love is resting my head between the curve of his shoulder and my sheets. Love is watching a summer storm roll in together, dry and safe. Love is observation; of passion, of fear and of delight. Love is acceptance. There’s nothing more beautiful than knowing and being known. Nothing more beautiful than opening yourself up to someone, being with them in complete serenity, complete coexistence and honesty.
Rolling over and looking into their eyes, and silently whispering, “I love you.”
That to me is love.
- c.m
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 12:52 PM UTC
*I fall in love with blonde hair and glasses,
Awkward stances and quick glances;
He is temporary and thus impacting,
His voice is all that is lasting.
And though my chances are impeded,
Distance seems all so fleeting;
Such as is in the one-time summer dare
Of two strangers’ love affair.*
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
Fog Happens
Yup. Not profound, even Jung, Kant and Freud,
wouldn’t deny their eyes, would no doubt disagree
with symbolic, philosophical implications, and the
head banging ramifications for the immediacy of
the spiritual impact while driving in this grey ****
Fog differs every time, and on an island, that’s for
**** sure. Today’s incarnation, the fog comes over
the water, but respects the man-made, timbered,
bulkhead, so the yard, with its circus of ravens, crows,
and other invisible birds, insects, rabbits, is visible,
but absent the inhabitants who are smarter-than-humans,
they remain aboded thinking, only stupid humans believe
they can navigate and forage, in a fog penetrating in air
that is 97% humidity and 100% peas soup thick skinned.
The time? Of course.
It’s 7:36 AM on the East Coast, and beyond the lawn lies a brackish bay that will lead you to the Atlantic and north to the Titanic, direction Newfoundland. Not enough info to geo tag me, but those who know me, knowledgeable in my early mornings scribblings, know my whereabouts, my telephone number. Do you?
Fog Happens to everyone and at random intervals, Nope. Not thinking of the brain clouds of ordinary Lethologica and Lethonomia. (Sunday lazy so just look it up and say out loud, gotta remember them words and laugh out loud cause you ain’t gotta a prayer.)
Fog Happens
in the heart, spreading north to the consciousness, and the lethargy of movement impeded by the lighthouse bells tolling “danger is about,” our light stolen, but you need to know, you’re perilously close to danger. Any action taken when heart-fogged can have awful consequences so stick close to bed, yank out your tablet, write a poem, listen to sad love songs on that Pandora Station, or send GIPHYs and emojis to your six year old granddaughter who is 108 miles to the west of where you both hide beneath coverlets, and laugh out loud with her like the bells chiming outside, and that helps move that heart~fog hanging low, out to sea.
YUP.
Fog Happens
Fog Passes
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 8:00 AM UTC
If I was the shoe in your foot,
Who was the sock
that impeded us to touch skin with skin?
Who was that sock,
that received the stinks from your lips and absorbed all of the sweat
from your heated days?
Who was that sock,
That I have to thank?
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
I feel your presence, your spirit near
I remember warmth, but you're not here.
What once was joy has now receded
Gentleness gone, and grace impeded
Did I give too much, or stay too long?
Did I try too hard, or my words prolong?
The vows remembered, naive elation
Disloyalty now begs cessation.
Trust now lost. The struggle painful
Thoughts of another's touch disdainful
You feel my presence, you wipe my tear
You remember warmth, but I'm not here.
We move as robots, time seems long
Together now; forever gone.
Jan 25, 2011
Jan 25, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
1.This wheelchair never was a River,
even when powered, it did splutter
yes, it's equivalent in movements,
listening silently it always sits out,
away from the flow to the ecstatic sea.
A wheel chair is a caricature of loneliness.
2.Ever tried to see it for what it really is?
"We don't remember, doesn't catches the eye"
Not like a chair of any other kind easily does,
A chair regal looks up, straight at the face
in the manner it demands what it wants,
"Let me tell you this, listen or leave"
3.A wheel chair keeps on looking at it's
arrested feet apologetically and sighs,
if you have an inner ear sensitive, hear this,
I am not even a chair, an apology
for movement,spoken in a voice stiffed.
It speaks incessantly, in a voice within itself,
wordless to a world, that has closed it's doors.
4.A wheelchair easily forgets things as
it can't keep bitterness alive always.
who cares to speak a few words to a wheelchair?
all it is to be done is push it in silence through aisles .
from a destination of pain to any other, slightly higher.
Stairs of every kind, for a wheelchair is a foreign land.
5.Yet in impeded wheelchairs moves many a dream,
broken before their time or crusted with force.
Or remains of a day, too long and busily spent.
On every wheelchair a heart adamantly beats,
"I would, I would" it beats with a rare grit.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 9:44 AM UTC
Perhaps the most positively uninteresting tragedy
Is the story of flawed, impeded love.
For whenever I venture, strive, endeavor—
To exit my haven of solitary isolation
I’m devoid of any bravery.
Though I wish I could say
“People scare me! I don’t want to be judged
For things I cannot control,
For transgressions and loves
Methods, impairment, systems and failures
Despicable lies and harrowing truths
Cringeworthy trances and malicious propositions—
That’s the reason I tragically fear you!"
But such would be blatant lies.
For I am not a reticent sheep,
Not afraid of human, futile words
It’s not any judgement or hate I despise
It’s just that I can’t ever compromise
I’m so terrified of judging
Even in my mind
The people of the world
Precious brethren of my kind—
I don’t wish to hurt a weakling
Or a disgraceful abomination
Thus, I’ll isolate from anyone
For fear of impeding my love
Of all alive, of everyone.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC
I cry for you Argentina
hectic planet’s southern corner
land of passion, crazy arena
aforetime our bonds were stronger.
No longer yours, you never mine
our lives belonged together once
I used to taste your scarlet wine,
your gorgeous girls, your charming dance.
The friends from ages, forgotten stories
so much privation, my heart is sore
my aging parents, the elder brothers
your call is clear I shall wait no more.
Exultant hugs, reunion is great
my parent’s sanctuary regaining life
but there is an end, a settled date
cruel farewell that sticks its knife.
I’ve seen those humid agates before
I've heard how silence can drown the wail
hair-raising feeling on every pore
they'll stand upright, I will be frail.
Oh, childhood playground! my old-time shelter
long time impeded of children laughing
no words no tears, this way is better
my love, my kids, my home are waiting.
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 1:29 AM UTC
All the true talent is being impeded
Everyone seems to please the conceded
Narsasistic egos,why you gonna feed it?
Offer up your bank,so they can bleed it
Dry
Another sucka
Caught up in a game,your gonna loose **********
Collect up celebrity baggage and check out
Support the underground,fresh rhymes,no doubt
Real lyrisists with non generic beats
Making real music to be played on the streets
Not ******** hype getting sales from the tweets
Get down with real artists and support with your sheets
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 11:53 AM UTC
I remember the slamming screen doors,
the rattle of the stained glass monster,
and the drafty shadowed nights beneath chenille bedspreads.
I remember the sun soaked cloak room with its reek of wet woolen mittens,
the un-impeded flight down stairs in tomato basket bobsleds,
and the bouncing at the bottom in a frenzy of strawberry carpet burns.
I remember church bingo basements smoky on Friday nights,
Saturday morning sounds from her kitchen,
and a mile of sulfur dusted sidewalk in between.
I remember the damp musty smell of the low lit basement,
the passing of Black Label beer through semi-circle windows,
and the nauseating hangover from Mogen David wine kept in the cellar.
I remember hearing how they kicked in the door while she slept and beat her
and took her things, her rings, the gifts from my grandfather,
and how she stubbornly refused to leave the home my mother was born in.
A half century book ended on one end by the great depression,
which she survived,
on the other end the kicked in door
which she did not.
I remember my mother’s wavering voice when she told me she was dead,
how Uncle Ed found her sitting in her chair, rosary beads wrapped
around arthritic hands.
I remember hot on the left and cold on the right,
the smell of her sweat,
the breeze off the lake,
the creak of the old steam radiator,
and the way she slept in her chair with her mouth wide-open.
The way Uncle Ed found her.
Aug 23, 2011
Aug 23, 2011 at 12:57 AM UTC
Removing the Darkness from the Light......
From behind the veil, my tears, I dare to peer out
while forever longing, wishing to remove all doubt
waiting for a time, when the hidden will be revealed
when truth will prevail, no longer to remain concealed
This self-banishment is my unbroken silence, a journey I take
in order to traverse my world within, all else I must forsake
finally hoping to arrive, by following a destination foreseen
this remains my sole means of escape, fleeing to my dream
The hardships we all endure, why to remain mentally impeded
life's momentary setbacks, keep us from becoming conceded
this life is a prison, like in those dreams, we hide but cannot flee
ultimately time will dictate, how many years remain for us "to be"
To be" or "not to be" is then no longer a question, but is the answer
while for those who choose unwisely, "to be" becomes their cancer
how can they turn those unmovable hands, how to retrieve the past
to be given one more chance, and maybe to find eternal peace at last
Lies multiply advancing with time, caught in the confusion of the storm
nevertheless, you refuse to budge, you would rather die than conform
knowing what life is really about, you remove the darkness from the light
giving selflessly to others what they need most, and you become their sight
We can't always recognize the good in all things, but we will soon understand
when the concealed is revealed, only then will we recognize the guiding hand
along with the setting of the sun, are those dreams for us to ultimately behold
tears no longer to be shed, because now you're forever part of a heavenly fold
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:00 AM UTC
sometimes i wonder
is this all we could have been?
this mundane little bubble
and all that lies therein?
all there is to do,
all the places we are needed
all the problems we have caused
and the progressions we've impeded
soothed by the exchange of a small piece of paper
for useless items we're told we need
to fit into an image of a generic person
complicit in a culture we immortalize and breed
or others by their own conviction
in a set of rules older than this
to tell them how to make decisions
and promise them eternal bliss
each taught not to question preachings
or face some form of indefinite sanction
to remain obedient to a master
legitimizing the subsequent action
i don't understand.
how can this be the epitome of civilisation
so full of ignorance and hatred
we fail to see the beauty that surrounds?
how can this be the epitome of human intelligence
that we need glass screens for communication
and lenses to record our every movement?
how can this be the epitome of the human existence
that inequality is perpetuated
and poverty ignored?
one day you will realise what it is you have done
in your desperate bid for power.
you doomed the endurance of your kind
for the sake of one, tall tower.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
For an Actor, preparation is everything.
We are much more than
our face paint and props.
Rehearsals can go on for hours,
as we block out our scenes in our parts.
So it will not surprise you that Friday
The fourteenth of April found me
at Ford’s theater in Washington
preparing for my part in the play.
My horse would be held at the ready
My pistol was loaded and clean.
I was known and well liked by the company.
Like a ghost, I could wander unseen.
I’m disappointed Grant missed my performance
His wife Julia hates Mary some say.
Her aversion has stolen one target, but
the other will not get away.
Theater is a matter of timing
and I knew this crowd and this play
I entered amidst raucous Laughter
and fired, once, in the “Emancipator’s” brain.
Some soldier attempted to grab me
and got himself stabbed for his pains.
I balanced myself on the railing
preparing to leap on the stage.
I could hear Mary Todd Lincoln Screaming.
“Sic Semper Tyrannis!” I raged.
My boot spur got caught in the bunting
I lost balance and fell on the stage.
The actors were stunned to inaction
as I limped, none impeded my way.
Mister Lincoln has made his last speech
and likely seen his last play.
What actor worth his salt wouldn’t ****
to make his exit my way?
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 8:45 AM UTC
This is my American Spirit
Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it
This is my generation in a long, sour drag:
Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type
Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance
Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction
Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit
This, this is my American Spirit.
I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess
And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating
I’ll wear the habit of means and humility
An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be
The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory
Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my
Means to ravel a courser bond in someone,
As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it
Yes, this is my, my American Spirit.
We’ll have a game of butting desires
‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect
Only, I know, to lose out in the end.
Is there a place for dignity to prevail
Or charm in an attempt likely to fail?
Can there be eyes open, minds or thought
To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst
Unconscious abuses: yea or not?
But I will know irony as means to an end
Turned cheek from machination
That I can do, I can pretend
When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it
This, this is my American Spirit.
Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances
Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature
Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke
My own wants impeded, kept at a distance.
For, oh, Fortune! How you have written
Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm
A charity in practice as this cigarette is long
While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong
But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought
I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude
That pretense and pride the conscience denude.
In some be it strong in others enthralled
Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves
Quietly burning the vestigial gods
That brought us a new light or perspective on things
And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it,
This, this is our American Spirit.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
In the flash of a memory I am transported back in time,
To the first time we ever met, seems like a eternity ago.
I remember up until that point boys had cooties, but
When we met that all changed.
I can still see that cute, sweet little boy who caught my attention.
Sitting in a desk in front of mine.
I remember waiting until recess to play and sing.
A sweet innocence of youth that we shared.
Then as the years passed by we went down different paths.
But even though you were not in my sight I often wondered
How you were, where you were, did you ever wonder about me too.
Then fate crossed how souls once more, over twenty years later.
When you walked in the room, all the memories flooded my heart.
I knew you face, would have recognized you anywhere.
The same beautiful smile, the same kind eyes.
Automatically we picked up right where we left off.
The connection between our souls remained, even after the miles
and years apart.
What a blessing to have you return to my life.
Conversations lasted for hours, glances burned into my brain.
You are forever impeded in my heart.
Friendship and love filled the empty void.
We keep in touch and you have been my shoulder to lean on
My confidant, my defender, my voice of reason.
Now once again this cruel world has separated our earthly bodies,
But you need to know, no matter what the situation, no matter how far,
no matter how hard the road ahead may be,
My heart is with you,
My soul speaks to yours in a language only we can understand.
I am here, and always will be.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
ever since
that brightest of lights
birthed the universe
and all that it holds
our particles have
been striving through
all that is known
of space and time
through countless changes
of form and matter
through our unknown infinities
amidst the infinites known
through beliefs and disbeliefs
uncertainties and doubts
falling continuously
in the path of our orbits
endlessly we will travail
entrained to reunite
with our eternal partner
separated only temporally
impeded by the superlunary
seemingly fated from beyond
the gravity of this mystic tie
binds all sempiternally
and we will be found
one in the other
Nov 26, 2023
Nov 26, 2023 at 5:25 PM UTC
When common sense prevails
And Whitehall gets demolished
Once politics has died a death
When voting is abolished
The world can then recover
From an era of attrition
But mindful of the wandering
Redundant politician
For safeguarding the public
And ensuring that our nation
Is free from slimy bureaucrats
With dodgy legislation
Is vital for survival
So we’d better reemploy them
And here are some suggestions
As to how we might enjoy them
They could bungee jump volcanoes
For the National Geographic
Or lie down in a busy road
To calm the morning traffic
We could shave their glossy hair off
And turn it into wigs
Then pulverise the rest of them
For feeding to the pigs
If you’ve just made a coffee
And spilt a little drop
Then grab one by the ankles
And Presto! It’s a mop
Just roll one over nettles
If ever you’re impeded
And stand them on the riverbed
If stepping stones are needed
They’re great for hanging coats on
And extinguishing cigars
They’re useful safety dummies
For testing foreign cars
If hollowed out and quilted
They make a fetching scarf
And quite the conversation piece
If pickled, cut in half
The list is almost endless
And I’ve mentioned fairly few
There’s a myriad of ****** jobs
To find for them to do
But first they should be rounded up
A vessel must be chartered
To send them to the front line
Of the wars they ****** started
Sep 14, 2019
Sep 14, 2019 at 5:09 PM UTC
crassly lashing flashing plastic rings
creating an ambiance of Olympic glory
impeded good-deed-doers freely spew
fruitarian propaganda at the vegetable eaters
while, chewing cow flesh, the masses only stare
blank eyes match black hearts and the bleak outlook
beacons the barbarians….time to barbeque –
beginning again, the road less traveled
barely shapes itself against the tall grass backdrop
crop dusting drunkards use the ***** trails
and trailing behind….the banished children
broken toes leave misshapen footprints
and mothers can only sob at the spectacle –
underscored idealism stands rage filled on the billboard
presenting hate and separation values
with a clever tag line and overpaid advertising men
irritated immigrants stare up
without being able to read the text,
they grasp the meaning
and with new meaning to their lives of impoverished helplessness
they start anew
looking to the sunrise
for inspiration –
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
melancholy world
dimness on minimal rays
aimlessly caught in obscurity
don't fall down
pervading all corners of the world
darkness
shadows elevated too tall
cracks plastered
no intruding light
impeded deprived view
over head
gathering
laden dark clouds
which cover the heavy mind and soul
suffering mourners
cheerless
rusted with hurt
across a mortal canvas
wherein a blot
creates spreading stain
humanity seeks
a cradle
milk for nurture
sensing virtue required
black
complicated
overwhelming
the world
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
Years after giving up the game
for good I still dream of turning
up late to a match juggling
a chipped red racquet,
high-impact lenses,
salt tanned right hand
glove and two
blue ***** fresh in the can,
my dream court receding
down darkened halls,
a warren of identical doors,
portholes slashing avocado
carpet with watery cross ties,
florescent flickers that merge and pool,
flushing me into flat light within
a stark white cube to toe the red
service line once again only to find
my forehand serve impeded
by stacked furniture and packing
crates arranged into the crooked lane
plat of medieval Bruges.
Racquetball,
a game of angles
gone sadly out of fashion,
the MacGuffin in my dreams,
as it was in my playing days
when you were my true opponent,
King of Center Court running me,
stroking passing shots, methodical
while I hurled myself heedless
headlong into walls, losing on points,
nursing trophies of bruises.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 8:33 AM UTC
Waist deep.
The thick black syrup meets skin
A sharp black/white line
Across the pores
Like a moving limb of day/night
Across the distant craters of the moon.
To tread deeper and pulls the surface down
The mirror-black surface bending, pulling.
A meniscus
A relativistic bending
Of space and time around a star.
Deep below the surface
Wiggling toes are sluggish
Movement of legs are impeded
A tug at each hair on legs and toes.
And the hydraulic squirt of the liquid
Below the soles as your weight shifts.
Ah, but sometimes shallower now,
Withdrawing belly skin pulls with it
The deep brown-black rubbery surface
That will not be left behind.
It will not relinquish this new intimacy.
What horror comes with the rising depths?
Liquid darkness comes over shoulders, chin and cheeks.
A sweet salty taste now upon the lower lip.
A tug, a pull at the chin with every breath
Every attempt to lift it above the surface.
Fear. Darkness. Unknown.
Over mouth and nose.
Sticking to eyelids.
Thick and warm into ears.
A bubble of air tries to escape from under your chin
And tickles as it pulls up on the hairs it passes.
The cool open air irises-off above your head
Only a momentary depression in the top surface.
Until there is no record, of your having passed here.
Silence.
A sweet and sticky seal, impermeable between this world and the void.
Silence.
Push up now with strength in frightened legs.
The suction is immense, the pull strong.
It does not wish to let you withdraw.
But you push and breaking the tension of the surface
You emerge.
Great thick layers of darkness remain.
Hands claw great gobs of blackness from nose and mouth.
A gasping, stuttered pull brings icy, bitter air.
Standing now, a black shadow-ghost emerging from tarry blackness.
Velvety and warm was the invitation,
Soothing and intimate was the gentle touch,
Silent and heavy was embrace,
A smothering, airless dark at the end
And silence.
But sweet, oh how sweet and warm.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
Opening up choice, optional outlets
Voiced sections of our minds escaped
Safety was in silence; speech impeded
Powerful penned action leaves the
Skull to crack open thought processes
Others see into their minds by way of derivation
Interaction captured, swooping into bludgeon
Spat out red remarks dissolving us, turning over
The table of plenty and offending, devaluing self regard
Talking us out of being who we are....yet leaves
Replaying the turntable of our minds
Rinsed out mouths might penetrate the circle of
Tight lips, forced shut by silent expectation
Fear and squirming ruling our fingertips, wrapping
Knuckles pressed firmly to the flesh of repression
Gold dust sprinkles the high life, cuts short the
Intrinsic pain, lends a hand in the greedy depths
Of finding a way through the webs of sarcasm
The veiling pretence is insidious in flavour
Tastes sweet to the tongue, once swallowed... too late
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 10:21 AM UTC