"inflaming" poems
In lonely moments
I stroll the waning memories
when love pure smiled blissfully
deep within a fawning heart
a wistful melody arises untainted
like a steaming enslaved passion
breathlessly released
unrestrained,..
evident
as the pressed and dried flowers
cuddled between life's ardent petaled pages,
bookmarks of the heart
traces of the wild bouquets
that often soothingly caress’d
the energizing tingles
inflaming a tantalizing touch
the yearning empty voids
feverishly undressed,
traced in the hidden sands
of unexplored oceans..
though time and distance
make the bereft heart grow helplessly fonder,
memories fade softly as the summer breeze befalls,
as gentle feather’d touch
the evanescent sunset afterglow
where the earth and sky align
the dimming of the day
loving can heal
the poet’s bleeding words,
loving can mend your soul ―
the perennial dawning of an
unpromised new day
will someday come again
bequeathed like the bluebird’s mirthful song
to bring forth nascent wild flowers’ blossoming petals
flourishing in the meadow of my heart
Someone you used to know
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:48 PM UTC
Anxious-laughter afternoon
moonlight shadow is still very vague,
a long-silent mourn, quiet sorroundings.
Pale-Blue sky,
overlaping highly with a vast mantle of clouds.
Pale-blue sky,
inflaming my temperament with your mournful sounds.
Crystal,
moment of sweet delight.
Languidly, as I smile,
I see her take off.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 12:56 AM UTC
she gave me her cell #,
in a crowded bar
inked upon my forearm,
"in case in my drunkness, I dare forget,"
a common come-on technique,
that reeks of all good things to come
but I failed to see,
in the little letters,
"@ your own peril"
a warning, poorly heeded,
inflaming my now unimaginable
needy neededs,
just a **** come on,
or a warring warning of tumult,
vampirish blood *******
with cautious haste,
her number I did paste
into my contact list,
'in case of loss, call,'
when sudden notifications galore,
came unbidden from everywhere:
Are you really sure?
these digits seems were posted on a
Do Not Call list,
maintained by monks and bro's,
no, no, not a list of
what-rhymes-with-bro's,
but of fallen angels,
who knew the secrets of heaven
the price extracted for their revealing,
could cause you life long
arthritis of the heart,
per the Surgeon General,
for which the only cure,
endure, endure, endure...
the prize?
endless wonderful new poems, freely given,
but with one strictest of restrictions,
if published,
it meant your slow extinction!
*that is why the world calls me
Poet of the Way,
forever trying to find a way,
to away these treasured glories*
then one day,
he laughed and laughed,
when he first he read the magic key,
your poem, successfully saved *on
Hello Poetry!*
and now the poet endures,
even possibly, self-saved,
quite happily
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 7:30 AM UTC
☺☻╬☻
Finish the crackers --- grab a smoke . . .
of Ferguson my muse will sing.
A call to arms --- God’s fires to stoke;
let Truth and Freedom ring!
Take to the streets; avenge this wrong
and hasten the end of racist rule.
Justice, though it may tarry long
will find its target in the duel.
Young Michael Brown, like all true saints
found himself craving Swisher Sweets.
He robbed a store, whose camera paints
impartial portrait. In the streets
the thief refused to be detained
and so threw off police restraint.
Though sin escaped, the Law remained
and made a martyr of this saint.
The agitators did their thing:
inflaming thugs to smash and loot,
while racists baited hooks, to string
the press. Officials followed suit.
Angels, although not always kind,
do not display this attitude –
aware of how the police mind
responds to such ingratitude.
We ought to thank the police force
for showing mercy under stress.
The culprit chose a foolish course
and made a God-awful mess.
Prince Michael met ignoble fate
(that ghetto-Christ, that righteous youth)
His sacrifice in vain --- though great,
could not impede the march of Truth.
Ferguson, our eyes turn towards you . . .
are you now able to admit
while reality rewards you
that looting and lying ain’t ****
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
Boundless dusk above forsaken intuitions
Stones with ancient seeds
Yet the roots can breathe
The earthly exuberance
The naked secret of our song
That manipulates my tounge
Redden from you and I
The contact of our lips
Simulating my hunger for your groin
The nerves of my vertebrates harbor your weight
As my breast shudder from your touch
Primal delicious desires
I thirst for the fluids of your flesh
With nurture and greed
I moisten your fingers
Help you find my sensitive pearl
Relishing the trail of the garden of youth
Primal delicious desires explode in need
Delicate softness of my mystical place
Lifting my body with much response
As my fingers dance, pinch and **** at my peaks
Repeatedly as you ****** me
I gasp and beg for your caress
I shudder as I chase my wave
Reaching as I whimper into a ******
Simulating my hunger for your groin
Inflaming my pores
I enlarge you ever so slow
Working my hands holding you from behind
One swift lick of your rigid flesh
You pull in a lungful of air
Your hot flesh started to grow
I ease you into my mouth
Circling as you keep the pace
Against me you put me in deep
The sweet taste of you makes me weak
Intense intervals underneath
Between your thighs
Intoxicating the very layers of my juice
I enlarge you once again
Moist and ready
I open my sweetness just for you
As I arch down onto you
Your hands rest on my hips
I begin to feel my flower grow
A whispering rouse escapes from my lungs
We flow inside each another
Deeper in my heat
Your aggressive arousal
Provoking me to quiver
The barrier surrenders to you and I
Vivid blossoms of tranquil harmony
Through the gateway of my womanhood
As you nurish the nutrients you covet for
My protruding pale pink buds
Plump with need
I'd hollow out to place you inside
I'd linger in this universe to pave your delicious desire
As you surrender pushing me down
You penetrate my mouth once again
As you reclaim my mouth soft and pink
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 6:59 PM UTC
Wait! Wait!
A pinch of salt in my heart,
Keeps inflaming through the halt.
Wait! Wait!
Some lost in their lives, living with you
Some lost their lives for the pain given by you.
Wait! Wait!
When people meet you,
To the expectations they live up,
When people breathe you,
To the life they give up.
Wait! Wait!
To some you yield results,
To the most you offered upsets.
With perseverance, I get towards my aim,
As an interference, you send me back with a shame
People exclaim what God say
Why fear when I am here.
But Mr. Wait. You say
Nothing here, when I am near.
Through you, I faced disappointment.
With your end comes my accomplishment
Hello Mr. Wait. I warn you
The more you live with me,
The more I turn rebellious.
The more you give me woe,
The more I become your foe.
Thank you Mr. Wait.
You made me the best Hunter animal with a ferocious killer instinct,
I won't leave this instinct, till you become extinct.
Challenge for a change,
Revenge for an exchange.
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:05 AM UTC
Screeeeeeeechhh!
Thud!
Silence!
Hearts stopped
Faces turned
Jaws dropped
Prayers began
He left his assembled bricks and wood and furniture
and ran
ran towards the sunset
with nothing
but his silhouette following him
even years later
it felt like yesterday
possessed
he ran as fast as he could
Prayers began
blurry shapes hoarded around the car
his eyes refused to close
against the horror
of what lay beside
his high crushed
into water
his delusion failed him
his brain froze
He ran as fast as he could
to the beach
wanting to walk into the water
wanting to stop breathing
seeking unfathomable peace
that final peace
His brain froze
get out of the car
people shouted
was a life lost
he didn’t dare to find out
he just wanted
a few seconds back
just a few
seconds
back
please
That final peace
eluded him
waves silenced
by his cornucopia of emotions
his eyes now refused to open
the saltiness of the beach
was overcome
by tears
that flowed in secrecy
inflaming everything within reach
embracing his cheeks
toying with his lips
Please
callanambulance
sheisbleeding
somebody
tieyourshirtaroundherbleedinghead
isittoolate
is it too late
Toying with his lips
tears turning into questions
could I ever forgive myself
his sobbing heart
didn't acknowledge the question
it just faded
he lived
with himself
he died within
Is it too late
his wife asked
holding his hands
breathing heavily
her eyes averred
every moment that they shared
their feuds
their make ups
their teasing
their loving
her eyes were done speaking
and now they rested
He died within
wailing like a baby
he slept there
with parched eyes
reminiscing her parting words
etched in his heart
etched so deep
that it bled internally
bled and ached
to release a shriek through muteness
muteness, deafening
deafening his emotions
making them oblivious to his existence
his fists clenching
the vacuum of solitude
the moon and waves began their tango
and the water rose
higher and higher
embracing him within
maimed to be saved
releasing a gushing hymn
for she was now deemed
forever with him.
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
And I did it once again.
Skin picked and shaven,
Cakey frosted ivory,
Faceless, nameless,
Plasticity contusion.
Littered in the detailed fractures of a swelling stem,
Those skeletal twigs of intangible incestual wings,
splintered in stacks underneath his bed.
Apocalyptic comfort found in the veins of what remains...
Pineal shame,
Puny white me,
Post-karmic, futuristic-retrospective cosmic plan, slowly creeps towards me and offers its long inflaming hand.
Cricket twitch, echoes in the distant introspective glitch of my momentary intuition.
A bitter drip on tongue descends,
Tunneled in an unwanted exploration.
That sour pitched cacophony uncomfortably sung,
Through the ghastly cold touch of a righteous cockroached thumb.
Repugnance,
Spreading the stain of an untouched soul,
Quicksand, morphing me into dust.
Devouring the white and into the red I rust.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
Parting my subtle fingers, touching the silky,mellifluous hair
Slowly moving beneath,
Placing my hand beside ,
Drawn to your marvelous, profiled, sculpted, jawline
Teasing fore play and kisses,
Without wasting hesitation,
Removing fabrics swinging in rage across the room,
Bare back and body,
Temperature rising,
Top to bottom,
As you harden and drenched,
Your rugged , tempestuous hands,
Throwing a weak influenced temptation,
Into a lustful haze, spinning
An imitation on repeat,
The heat intoxicating , inflaming the bonds between our desires,
Penetrating our virginity,
Throbbing in and outwards,
Notion the anguish and agony ,
Discomforting in moving surfaces,
I plead within your name ,
Carelessly tugging and hanging onto your body,
Arms flung around your waist,
As you angrily demanded more from me,
Ordering to continue on wards,
The obsession grew expectantly,
A new form of infatuation,
Thrusting relentlessly,
Earsplitting moaning,
Sensual whispers,
Piercing marks ****** ,
Licked,
A Sign of ownership,
Smacking grip below,
Letting go uncontrollably,
Reaching into the endearing ******
Seizure,
Absolute Bliss.
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 2:29 AM UTC
wind cutting through my hair
and my expressionless face is still
while nostalgia overcomes me.
what have we come to?
words of hatred once spoken to one another,
followed by kind, apologetic letters,
and pure innocence engraved on our faces
turned into hangovers,
excuses and more excuses.
the worries drag my eyebrows down
like bent, rubber arcs that have been straightened
and are moving slowly back into formation.
am i the only one?
am i the only one?
i grab a pen and paper and write
the words inflaming my throat,
the visions in my eyes.
everyone moves.
everyone moves on and grows
with intoxication in hand
and fire
burning through their sockets.
is this growing up?
to enjoy and to live;
is it necessary to poison one's self?
what have we come to?
why, a different location
will not change the way they act.
am i the only one?
it's peer pressure what they do,
it's peer pressure.
but i am left,
because i refuse.
does that make me wrong?
my friends; their love and trust
bestilled in my heart;
it's weakening, it's breaking.
i shouldn't feel this way.
what have we come to?
is a dream of sanity and beauty
not enough?
because that is all you need
in my book.
you step in my book and see
a bird soaring
a flower blooming
an idea growing.
it's beautiful.
you step out of my book,
you don't see.
you're trapped
in the fumes, in the heat
of the crowd, in the smell
of the liquor.
what have we come to?
love is not an object.
it cannot be thrown around
and pestered with whenever you
please. it cannot get
carried around to become
an STD.
it cannot.
why?
it is not love.
it's hurt, it's stupidity.
the love is the feeling,
the lights,
the faith.
where is it?
lost,
disease has taken its place.
what have we come to?
it's what is inside, it's in
your soul, not displayed
on your skin.
what you are is not a material
thing, so why don't they bother
to take
a
second
look?
all walk with a label
instead of a name.
what have we come to?
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 4:33 AM UTC
The oil lamp cast its noble glow,
while shadows darkened all around,
on leaders in the global know
whose darkness by its light was found.
Just then, the lantern's leaky wick
flared up. The whole benighted place
ignited like a Wiki-Leak
inflaming each tyrannic face.
The Media pitched their low-ball gloss
and tried to polish up the mess
by spinning such a global loss
as sure electoral success.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 8:49 AM UTC
Creeping vines climb
crisscrossing the cracked clay
Crumbled brick shards collect
at the base of the tower
Essential oils permeate the air
Invisible liquid fire
Inflaming all feeling
skin bubbling and peeling
Grotesque **** oozes
from ragged ripped flesh
Itching is incessant
Swollen red eyelids
Tear drop elicits twitching
A scream of unfulfilled urges
Vines encircle the neck
countless green nooses
contaminate flesh
Breath becomes brutality
swollen esophagus
Red and green monster stalks
searching for someone
with skin thin enough
to climb underneath
into the innermost layer
Death
brings an end to the maddening agony
Body a bulging red ball already collects maggots
Creepy vines questing
never ending searching
not satisfied until they find
the next target
Cycle continues
no escape from the ivy.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 5:56 PM UTC
Verse 1:
The one that I long for,
The malady for which my heart ails,
You’re an infectious boil inflaming my very soul.
A toxic love slowly consumes my eyes,
Where have you gone, I’ve been blinded by the truth.
The butterflies of my youth have collapsed into naught.
The Universe weeps to me in her legion tears of the stars;
She sings to me a requiem of an unrequited love.
I have faith that you’re out there, my orchid of blossoming love,
I want to feel you effloresce as golden thread connects our souls.
Chorus:
The boon of my youth, has He veiled me in ebony wings?
Has the moon abandoned the sanctity of an everlasting youth?
Please glimmer upon me,” I long to set you free!”
There is a divine vessel inside of me, oh, He longs for a sacred love.
Verse 2:
I know that Gaia, that beauteous and earthen Goddess;
She smiles down upon me as I quiver beneath the Earth.
I’ve retreated to the underworld and there are clouds beneath the ground,
They take the form of a lover whose face I cannot make out.
The heavens have been concealed from me and I fear that I’ve been deceived;
Is it wrong to wish upon a star for someone to enamor me?
Chorus:
The boon of my early years, has He veiled me in ebony wings?
Has the moon abandoned the sanctity of an everlasting youth?
Please glimmer upon me,” I long to set you free!”
There is a divine vessel inside of me;
He longs for a sacred love.
Bridge:
I pray that iridescence will envelop my weary soul,
Maybe cosmic glitter will fall upon tired skin.
My body is immaterial; I sweat and cry tears of blood.
Maybe tribulation will flourish into love.
The cosmos lies inside me and my heart is shining blue,
It shall illuminate the pathways that will lead me to your heart.
Chorus:
The boon of my early years, has He veiled me in ebony wings?
Has the moon abandoned the sanctity of an everlasting youth?
Please glimmer upon me,” I long to set you free!”
There is a divine vessel inside of me;
He longs for a sacred love.
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
*Baptise me
In the glow
Of your halo
Traces of euphoria
Courses through my blood
A riot in my head births
As I recall the day
You marched
Into my hollow
Inflaming
A magnificent tempest
That fill the pages
Of all that I write
Your words
Weaved into the intricate spaces
Of my impenetrable heart
To leave it radiating
Unimpeded adoration.*
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
No spring nor summer Beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnall face.
Young beauties force our love, and that’s a ****
This doth but counsel, yet you cannot ’scape.
If ’twere a shame to love, here ’twere no shame,
Affection here takes Reverence’s name.
Were her first years the Golden Age; that’s true,
But now she’s gold oft tried, and ever new.
That was her torrid and inflaming time,
This is her tolerable Tropique clime.
Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from hence,
He in a fever wishes pestilence.
Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,
They were Love’s graves; for else he is no where.
Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit
Vowed to this trench, like an Anachorit.
And here, till hers, which must be his death, come,
He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb.
Here dwells he, though he sojourn ev’ry where,
In progress, yet his standing house is here.
Here, where still evening is; not noon, nor night;
Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight
In all her words, unto all hearers fit,
You may at revels, you at counsel, sit.
This is Love’s timber, youth his under-wood;
There he, as wine in June enrages blood,
Which then comes seasonabliest, when our taste
And appetite to other things is past.
Xerxes’ strange Lydian love, the Platane tree,
Was loved for age, none being so large as she,
Or else because, being young, nature did bless
Her youth with age’s glory, Barrenness.
If we love things long sought, Age is a thing
Which we are fifty years in compassing;
If transitory things, which soon decay,
Age must be loveliest at the latest day.
But name not winter-faces, whose skin’s slack;
Lank, as an unthrift’s purse; but a soul’s sack;
Whose eyes seek light within, for all here’s shade;
Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than made;
Whose every tooth to a several place is gone,
To vex their souls at Resurrection;
Name not these living deaths-heads unto me,
For these, not ancient, but antique be.
I hate extremes; yet I had rather stay
With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day.
Since such love’s natural lation is, may still
My love descend, and journey down the hill,
Not panting after growing beauties so,
I shall ebb out with them, who homeward go.
1.5k
his voice syllabic brushes
against canvas whispering
lullabyes within dreams,
lingering...
his musky fragrance flush
upon flesh, dallying like
verbs still whispering
between folds of rumpled
sheets...
every noun a soft whimper
uttered. lips openly inviting;
stirring tenderly like a breeze
echoing poetry with passion...
ensnaring heart in web of
his muse; each beat looms
copulative, sliding seductive,
awakening senses...
abandoned ache slips and I
pirouette, rippled within his
verse; succumbing to his
poetic thirst...
still whispering lush verbs
while easing between
silken sheets and breath
quickens...
as ****** of tongue licks
nouns of passion, sipping
spills as labials quiver
against tongued invasion...
and he softly murmurs across
brined flesh, touching, nibbling
trembled aches; inflaming naked
desire as each stanza seduces
me again and again...
drawn to masculinities tease
verse by verse...
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
The little love god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand,
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warmed,
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a ****** hand disarmed.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy,
For men diseased; but I, my mistress’ thrall,
Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.
1.1k
In my childhood
I played with fire!
Now I play
with matches:
Sticks without embers
that burn with hot remembers
inflaming logic without reasons
for the
Treason; treason,
falling by the seasons
like a burning white hot snow.
and realizing:
That the more
That I discover
The less there is
To know.
Copyright © 2013 by John Russell; all rights reserved. No reproduction allowed in any manner whatsoever without permission.
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 6:02 PM UTC
There’s too much light
deluge of photons
an affront to Night’s ambiance
Harsh sulfur streetlight glow:
trickery. illuminating
arteries of Artificial
making the Night
dull dark distant
confined to human construct
robbing Mystery
masking subtlety
devouring nature
the Immensity
the Antiquity
the Beauty of Stars: gone
Lost
blotted out
by buzzing wasp’s nest
Denizens’ sting
to eyes & minds
inflaming consciousness
no longer can you Feel
small and lost
under the grandeur of nocturnal sky
all is set
before you
here to there
Elsewhere to home
Home?
Sleep in Darkness?
listening & thinking
‘til sleep succumbs
No, now rather
befalling Sickly
pallor of computer glow
we stare with blinders
all else fading
save the screen
before us
******* us in
trapping us
excising thoughts
keeping us
from ourselves
that is why we fill the night
Out of fear. To hide
but not from monsters
nor from ghosts goblins gremlins ghouls
not from lurking eldritch terror of yore
but from ourselves
from Feeling and Being
for fear of perceiving
tactile intuition in the air
of what lies ahead rather than seeing
for fear of walking by ourselves
just ourselves with unencumbered thoughts
and seeing through the facade
the facade of daytime ascribed meanings
the facade of of who we are
the facade of light
The facade that Darkness
is what is lacking
that light is normality
That light is beauty
light is hope
light is life
but it’s just that
a Facade
we plastered ourselves: an Illusion
But there’s truth
at Night and under stars
truth in the sensation of dusky hours
Artistry in ink
the allure of “unknown”
feeling small and lost
Under soft Milky Way
floating over dew laden grass
caressed by cool currents
There’s Truth
& Beauty
in the Night
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Unable to reach out
she sits alone...in tears....
she sits by the old tree
waiting
a little girl in tears.
Wrapping her arms around her knees
she embraces the ache of fear.
There is a light in the house so near
casting soft shadows on a moonlit face.
Voice serenade the darkness
inflaming the embers
of a belonging so close
but never close enough....
for her to reach.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
*Inside, the cave claimed them as hers,
a silence strangely suspicious of itself
holding back the urge to explode, whispered:
"Love at your age is dangerous, handle with care,
see its blade gleaming with desires
make sure, you don't hurt each other"
A wing moved, a swishing sound heard
they held breath for a moment,
felt the nostrils fill the strong stench
of droppings of colonies of bats.
But the love pair going higher on the rungs
found it nothing, but an olfactory diversion pleasant
a trigger to get closer, snuggle, deeply inhale
each other's many secret scents, little known before.
Outside the cave light prowled
like a jealous lover jilted by the beloved,
resenting darkness that dances with silence
inflaming the atmosphere, dense in desire,
--a love intoxicant discovered by him and his girl,
Standing on tip toe, she rubbed her lips to his
match stick and matchbox spoke in tones of hiss
fire emits in maiden's first kiss, he remembered
what was said, on his way to a narcotic stupor
he forgot all the rest, the bats, liquid darkness
the trouble they had sneaking out of houses,
duping the thousand eyes of an Indian village,
in vigil to keep a virgin's maidenhead intact.*
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
Old hopes
Conversed
In hushed tones
Or not at all
The maddening
Clock ticks
Inflaming
A sense of urgency
The pungent suffocating
Stench of death
Draws closer
And surrounds
How unsettling it is
For the sun to
Keep shining
Smiles
On their faces
Do they not see
The troubles
The shade of ruin
Impregnating the skies
Bound by limitations
And yet all they perceive
Are iridescent rainbows
In a world without hue.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
The unwelding of us was reverberating
and time was heat even then. Though
I feel its waves only now—a stretching
of full air, an enchanted scraping
of flimsy tied veins, these boats
poorly moored to moving docks
never moving water.
Then electricity, inflaming suddenly,
and there is a terrific prying apart.
These days, I can sit with the snow ice
spearing down and empty myself of it.
When at least parts pour back in, though,
and I smell the skin you wore in summer
when a wind blows,
restlessness speaks volumes.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
Halt, take in the flower-fyrd whose faces gaze above.
For God doth formed these instruments,
His glory from below, a friendly fere of His free-love.
Colours abound and smells ablaze, coddled carefully by sovereign grace,
Created in over-many shades, creation requests contemplation,
God receive praise from our glory-bound place.
Flee to the forest and walk in wonder
Dew-flavored florae that arise from thunder.
God of Glory, we alms-guests seek,
Only to find in mast-lands so meek.
Blest by back-woods, expansive, brave, and blazoned above
Humble inscription inciting and inflaming the in-carnation of love.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC