"intervening" poems
You don't know her
She is always forgotten
In your memories but soon your lips will only describe her as nondescript
The script of her life
How did she go from being so sweet to rotten
From just nightmares to sleep walking
Sweet ole her
Innocent and pure
Now she is impaired
In the need of refinement
But she doesn't have the strength to try it
You see she is chained to the past
Barely saw her dad
He was mean
Always got the last word
Drunk and abusive
Her mom was an unbloomed tulip
Looked kind but was bitter to her daughter
They'd fight and she would cry at night
She was ashamed of and had extreme anger for mother
How can you watch as she takes hits
Instead of intervening
Police bust down the doors and drag dad to jail
To the homeless shelter we go
No money, no home
It is cold
I barely knew what was going on around me
Refuse to talk to adults because they were all so confusing
And honestly my questions only led to answers that were lies
I had fear in my eye
The things that I had seen
The smoke filled air I'd breathe
Let's not forget the bullies
That talk stuff because I was so "imperfect"
Never had the latest brands
Because mom had no bands
Let's not forget how dad was back again
All hope was drained
She had thoughts of suicide and then a boy came
Walked his way in
She spilled her ink onto his page
He left anyways
Guess her story was too boring
You don't know her
You did at a time
She is nothing but rotten
And only meant to be forgotten
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
eye sometimes go to bed wearing an old hoody. It has a metal zipper to close the front and the zipper is always cold, unpleasantly so, on my bare skin. After awhile though, my body temperature warms the metal just enough, that it is no longer a cause of discomfort though the metal still remains inherently cool to the touch
While science can easily explain this I guess, I felt this to be a major miracle. That flesh pliable and heart-heated to 98 degrees could conquer the molecules of metal that were made in China struck me as extra ordinary (always two words, please!) and nothing short of a personal intervention by a personal deity
When I put the hoodie on at first I would think
******* (that's cold)
When I awoke, cosy and warm, I would think
******* (that's so cool)
having studied philosophy in Cleveland,
I knew that the logic of the situation,
what I had experienced was not an
interregnum, but the invisible intervening handiwork of god, who, also knocked my glasses from the nightable to the floor,
just cause she/ he was in a bad mood, on account of having to come such a long way, just,
to reheat me
one more time.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:38 AM UTC
The ice sifting in my glass
melts as the full moon sets
Another vice, constricting,
like a tightly wound corset
I can't be around so many people
in such familiar atmospheres
without a mixed drink and a cigarette
intervening through my beers
On her phone, at the table
She seems alone but not ashamed
I wonder if a single person here
could even guess her name
For a little liquid courage
I finish up my drink
I transfer to a closer chair
and ask on what she thinks
"I've got a past consumed by lovers
and a future filled with death
But the only thing I've ever wanted
was someone else inside my head
I want to hear somebody understand
that I don't always feel so fine"
I think I start to fall in love
as she pirouettes her glass of wine
She tells me how she grew up
on shattered hopes and dreams
Yet everything she's ever needed
has been well within her reach
The scars that she has
they paint a vivid history
A reminder of the past
A tour guide, makeshift, just for me
We talk a little longer
We joke and we sing
Halfway through her bottle
her ride informs us she's leaving
She says "I think I'm gunna miss you
when I'm alone laying in bed
Unless you want to take me there
and tuck me in instead"
We head out to the main street
where I hail us a taxi
She says she wants to split my headphones
and hear something relaxing
So we listen to Alcoa
Cab Rides & Cigarettes
I never knew that such a sad song
Could evoke such an affect
I dropped
her off
and left
But I'm glad
that we
had met
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Two hundred years ago and yesterday
a sailor wrote a letter in longhand,
entrusting it to the road
back to his beloved,
where dawn was breaking
at the closest port of call.
A century ago, a shy and lovely
mail order bride wrote
to the man who would be her husband,
in a land entirely different from her own.
In her delicate, sincere questions, from a
heart wrapped in ornate brocade layers of
kimono silk, she hoped to begin to know him.
Relationships formed gracefully, over time,
an ocean of water and thought intervening.
Water and air may be there
keeping souls apart,
until they are meant to be united.
Now, two beloved young friends have found
in each other a twin flame, first seen shining
in the virtual world of today. With only letters,
or flares or morse code, these two would have
seen, and known, that light within one another.
Souls destined from very early on.
My loving eyes have seen them, decades from now,
leaning into one another, silver hair entwined
as they rest their heads together on one more journey.
I defy anyone who might challenge me,
seeing these two blossoming in love
from a virtual, chance encounter,
to say that life is any less real
in the ways that matter most,
when it is born in abstract space,
in this manifestation of a reality
that is in itself a metaphor for
Reality.
Reality, is living,
deeply living,
the inexplicable,
unfathomable,
exquisitely simple
complexity,
of being fully human.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
Matrilineality is the tracing of descent
through the female line corresponding
to a societal system in which each person
is identified with their matriline;
– their _mother's_ image –
and which can involve the inheritance
of property and/or titles. A matriline is
a line of descent from
a common female ancestor
to a descendant of either ***
in which the individuals in all intervening
generations are mothers –
in other words, a "mother line".
In matrilineal descent,
individuals belong to the same
group as their mother.
The matriline of historical nobility
was also called the _enatic_ or _Uterine_ ancestry;
From Middle English wombe, wambe,
from Old English womb, wamb
(“belly, stomach; bowels; heart; womb; hollow”),
from Proto-Germanic *wambō
(“belly, stomach, abdomen”),
from Proto-Indo-European *wamp- (“membrane (of bowels),
intestines, womb”). Cognate with Scots wam, wame (“womb”),
Dutch wam (“dewlap of beef; belly of a fish”),
German Wamme, Wampe (“paunch, belly”),
Danish vom (“belly, paunch, rumen”),
Swedish våmb (“belly, stomach, rumen”),
Norwegian vomb (“belly”), Icelandic vömb
(“belly, abdomen, stomach”), Old Welsh gumbelauc (“womb”),
Breton gwamm (“woman, wife”),
Sanskrit वपा (vapā́, “the skin or membrane
lining the intestines or parts of the viscera,
the caul or omentum”).
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 10:37 PM UTC
Two souls alone so far between only nights are calling
Shinning stars pointing the way an affection so enthralling
Shimmers over tranquil pools the crescent moonlights falling
Meetings of two lovers hearts before the mornings dawning
The anguish of a waiting heart the flutter of a wing
Beauties small enchanted voice hearing the Fairy sing
Dreams of love's compulsion, her song the wolf will bring
Within two hearts both shall meet on silvers entwined ring
A curse that's placed is broken a drink of pure tranquillity
The Spirit of the Wolf is called upon a test of his nobility
Flight of the fairy's soft élan her grace and her gentility
Brake the curse before the dawn the tranquil pools ability
Moonlight shines through the night sky a twinkle in a star
Sparkles touch the waters edge those loves that leave a scar
Both must drink before the light love's lost forever far
Glimmers of hope a small sip Wolf's howl at what they are
Transformations will occur love will always intervene
Magical flickers catch the light and wherever it is seen
Once a fairy fluttering now she's a proud Wolf queen
Wolf's are always calling where tranquil pools have been
The souls of two true lovers, will never be apart
Differences are overcome, from Loves intervening heart
Tranquil pools compulsive dreams, those feelings from the start
When two hearts are intertwined, that's true loves unique art
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 7:23 AM UTC
A Jurassic forest - a
tense moment watching
my T Rex, grazing lightly
on the jugular
vein of some docile lizard, with
a toothy grin, when
Alan's mum stomped into the room
bellowing dinner
time and the intervening million
years or so turned
in a whirl of pages, tumbling
legs and screaming kids, and a jumble
of Alphabetti Spaghetti tubes, limp
in their bloodied ketchup pool,
clearly out-flavoured
the remembrance
of things
past.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 2:53 PM UTC
Trying to figure out why a ***** tried to stunt on me.
While my homie fronts on me.
Triggered lie’s blasting out like bullets into your chest, golly!
Vigor dying whilst family crying that left me locked up now in a little celly.
Why did I pour out my heart to that ***** named shelly?
**** got me melancholy, casting out poxy curses.
My proxy is dropping down which got me feeling worthless.
Growing up in projects where one survives by snatching purses and killing snitches.
While society bides their time by tying nooses.
Rigged games yet we are told to give no excuses.
So, a minority got no choice but to role with the punches.
But with darker skin colour most don’t or won’t notice the bruises.
Vile nobility just loves hunting gooses.
Stark contrast idly confides and resides Inside institutionalized nuances.
Some people can be such nuisances.
Got me feeling like tony roaming through the different cosmoses.
Lonely sinking feeling, with my hope which was once flickering but is now slowly fleeting.
Reciprocal tensions pokes through my barriers like an unwelcomed greeting.
Typical tropes of under-achieving maybe it’s time I let God start intervening?
However, I’m doubtful on whether spirituality is real or nothing more than Kris Kringle.
Jingling jester choirs who always be harping on my people.
Which makes me ponder whether or not God’s supposed love is fickle.
Or if supposed believer’s have actually ever read the bible?
Religious pharisee’s not seeing the irony of praying to their falsified idols.
With their heads so far up their own *** That they don’t even realize that they’ve actually been worshipping the devil.
Feb 6, 2019
Feb 6, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
What I did, intervening with your life was wrong
I'm old but I pretended I was young
And you've played along, treating me like a sister and a friend
I'm horrible but that's something you refuse to comprehend.
I don't think you love me cause you still don't understand
That despite my past and failures, I am still a man
And I don't want your love any other way except unconditional
I don't yearn for pity because I'm unforgivable.
You should have left me ages and ages ago
But then I would have left you too.
There's no way you could warm my stubborn old heart
With no flame in your eyes, not even a spark.
I don't think you love me cause you still don't understand
That despite my past and failures, I am still a man
And I don't want your love any other way except unconditional
I don't yearn for pity because I'm unforgivable.
You should have kicked me out ages ago
Now I constantly feel guilty and ungrateful.
You always treat me like a sister, daughter, friend
I'm a man and that's something you refuse to comprehend.
I don't think you love me cause you still don't understand
That despite my past and failures, I am still a man
And I don't want your love any other way except unconditional
I don't yearn for pity because I'm unforgivable.
Don't give me pity because what I did was unforgivable.
12th May 2016
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 5:59 AM UTC
We share the bliss; the leaves fall to the floor.
Then we kiss, who knows what for.
It’s now a quarter till four .
We dismiss the screaming *****
who left her litter for us to ignore.
Tonight, She feels lucky,
standing outside of Ricky Jay’s bar.
As she waits beside a stranger’s car
, little does she know,
He’s not into infidelity.
The asphalt absorbs the neon glow.
The ***** adores the white alley cat.
We wonder how she got here
We imagine her story.
She was strong like a bear
, but is now a short term circuit Dory.
We fell for the despair of her misfortune.
The town drunk passed on the close margin.
We left and took the moon out for a walk
I began to talk,
“Will that be us when we’re 33?”
She took a moment to ponder
She faced me and replied
with an upside down smile
, “I’m no fortune teller,
but we would have been far better off
if you didn’t break my heart.”
She said enough.
Thankfully she did… I had to ****
I let you have your head start
I then followed after you
I found you hiding in an abandoned canoe.
With a gaping hole intervening the lost canoe
Nowhere near a reflecting stream.
She wiped off her ****** cream
The puncture wound
, separates us from common ground.
I sat across from her,
We began to reminisce about Denver
On that cold night last November
Taking a break from the big tour
Sharing one bed in a hotel room
We kept our luggage packed
Thinking we may never go back
We held each other warm and tight.
Now under the pale blue moonlight
Back in the canoe, Autumn’s early breeze
Sends shivers through our knees.
Gazing at you,
I wish to give something true.
Holding your hand whispering,
“Finally, near to a full year.
I overcame the fear
, here’s to you kid.
I feel the same way you did
these same exact words;
now transparently clear
that you whispered in my ear.
On a cold night in late November.
TJW2013
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
I chained myself to the earth
I planted the seed that grew into many
I chose not the stars
not the heavens
but land and gravity
when you're bigger than the universe
smaller than an atom
made up of matter and empty space
what's the point in floating around?
when there's no one to float with
you tend to be grounded
now it's not like that
I now feel clustered and confused
now I want to float and fly away
You have to take the bad with the good though
once you start something and let it's will be free
you no longer have control of the outcome
which made it all new and fresh
though I see redundancy and monotony in the flesh
repeating the same **** mistakes and learning nothing
have I gone mad?
Or has the world that came from me done so?
I guess that's why intervening now and again
breaking through unnecessary barriers
challenging faith and shedding light on a few things, helps the cause
I can't do it all though, well if I did, then many would lose purpose
that's why I just float so long as it all goes accordingly
unplanned and undefined
it's the point we shall evolve to
funny for one to think life is complicated
it is if there's no purpose
When the time comes those who went through all the trouble
those who were searching with their minds
are going to realize that the mind only seeks
the heart answers
we let our shells rule ourselves sometimes
but the shell only shows what the heart bleeds for
I will admit that it would be complicating to try and understand all that is
but you didn't make it, so how can you know what the artist felt when they were in the process of creation?
there were some points where it was complicating even for myself, but that was when I got closer to the finish line
which did I mention? It doesn't exist.
All in all we all evolve to resolve
from one into many
and many into one
you can look at a puzzle when it's all together and see beauty
but after you take apart the pieces and understand each piece's purpose for it's shape
you then not only see beauty, but beauty with experiential wisdom
I was a void to fill
now I'm full to burst
the void now has a void
for it no longer thirsts
the cycle shall carry on with miracles along the way
that's the way it is
and it will never stay the same
contradiction you may think
but I bring balance in a blink
I chain myself to break the chains
I break the chains to find freedom in new links
until the day when only scars remain
and the spirit of a star reigns
Aug 1, 2011
Aug 1, 2011 at 2:24 AM UTC
say something or just
keep on makin' ghost-patterned, intervening silences,
singing
or half-murmuring
verses, those ones from slow songs under low light,
the same refrain that runs between all the others,
through the passage of weeks, stained tobacco sweet by eleven-thirty iterations;
* [post-meridian or particulate matters only,
of course,
it's hard to wake before noon anymore.]*
with the way these rhythms keep us down
and out,
counting the methods-
the summations of potential miseries,
and the probabilities that all would or could turn around, before the end of the week.
or the next one.
and,
outside the door, the one after that,
over the acres of concrete and pale shade,
streetlit likenesses hushing air through melting neighbourhoods,
I make imaginary footprints,
wondering which, of the field of household starlit comforts,
is the blade of grass you cast seeds from
to inadvertently germinate and sprout a well of aspiration, the wind in a stranger's ribcage,
continually growing, hiccoughing leaf litter,
with every last breath.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 6:24 AM UTC
. . . go out into the evening,
leaving your room, of which you know each bit,
your house is the last before the infinite, . . .
(from Rainer Maria Rilke's "Eingang", MacIntyre translation)
The light which strikes my retina
as I look at the Great Galaxy in Andromeda
left there two million years ago.
(Hominids made tools from stone then, but had not yet
learned the use of fire.
Genetic material from certain of these hominids has been passed
from one being to another and now is in my own body.)
Millennia from now, humans who have
colonized the farthest reaches of our galaxy,
laboriously creating and maintaining Earth-like atmospheres,
will marvel that there once was a place so perfectly suited to
human life
that such labor was unnecessary. (Just as we marvel that orchids,
whose precise temperature and humidity requirements would seem to necessitate a greenhouse, grow wild in the Amazon.)
I cannot believe in a personal God,
intervening in human affairs, but stand in awe
of the terrible force which set the stars and galaxies in motion
--strewing them like so much confetti--;
the life-force running through each living creature,
as straight and true as a ray of light from that galaxy in Andromeda,
willing us to live, grow and be fruitful.
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 4:04 PM UTC
He talks to me,
In dreams,
When I wake up,
When I sit at the writing desk,
Quill in my hand.
He made me feel safe.
Who are you?
I am Hyde.
Why are you in my head?
To guide you. To help you. To love you.
He spoke to me everyday,
His deep and subtle voice lingering
In the back of my mind,
Never interrupting when I spoke,
Never intervening in my actions.
I felt compelled to keep him close,
To drag him from the dark confines
Of my subconscious and let him
Perch behind my eyes so he could see what I see,
Behind my mouth so he could say what I say,
Behind my heart so he can live like I live.
We became one.
But one day he changed.
He grew stronger,
Louder,
I felt his phantom presence
Fuse with my bones,
Wrapping his fingers around my ribcage,
Cutting off the air in my lungs.
It was suffocating,
Letting him take over me,
To overpower me.
I tried to send him back to Hell,
Back to the dark confines
That I so willingly and half-heartedly
Pulled him from,
But I was weak and I was foolish.
I felt the sinister urges boil beneath my skin,
Felt the need for destructive satisfaction with each pulse,
He didn't want to hurt people,
I did.
I gave myself to him,
And now I am his puppet.
A tragic love story between
A troubled body
And a chaotic mind.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
Perhaps I should take blame for
not laying specifics.
Or perhaps, for not in the moment
doubting her loyalty and
intervening.
In the game of dares,
she to kiss another, and,
regardless of gender,
not me.
I had said before,
"our physical embraces
and emotional turmoil
boiled into heated enamor
stays in our love, our bond,
our tie."
I believed honestly that she
would be wise enough
or calm enough
to say "No, I refuse it."
I believed she loved me enough to
know the boundary is real
and that when I said, "No",
I lacked sarcasm.
Or, I was not open enough to
list the specifics of what not
to do
and instead left too much open
to her imagination.
In that moment,
as the group of friends were amazed
at her polyamorous behavior
lubricated with *****
the fog of the mind,
and they laughed and
sent cheers outward,
I burned into the deepest rage humanly possible.
For that split second,
I debated leaving the party:
but, I was drunk, and the drive wasn't worth
such risk.
I debated yelling:
but it was her party to lead, not mine to destroy.
Instead, I sat in self-loathing,
hating myself so purely, but
I couldn't bring myself to be mad at her,
I don't think.
Again, the fog was floating.
I wanted to explode,
but instead imploded.
I wished for nothing but
to leave, to drink more to forget,
but instead I sit in rest
without sleep, concentration, peace,
but instead sit in pure hatred:
of what? Not her, not the girl,
but myself, for not doing enough,
not mattering enough.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 11:37 PM UTC
Summer field at rest; alive.
We stopped haying twenty-five years past.
Birds and bugs, golden rod and asters and
Worts, spiders, voles make it their home. We mow
Once a year.
And it breaks my heart. Good-by flowers for
Honey bees. Cover for warblers,
Mama turkeys and broods. Bedroom for deer.
Hidden lunch room for ground hogs
Until Jack Russell breaks their necks,
At least of the little ones.
Old hog mama requires my intervening shovel.
Otherwise she'd shred Jack's face.
9/23/2012
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:59 PM UTC
I've got the rhythm, but don't look anythang like a Nashvillian soul
Been living on the streets, so I ain't been on any **** census role
I'm not my mother's natural birth child, without any apology
But I’m god’s chosen and gifted, finger picking, guitar prodigy
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
My Mama once said, just do your music or do something else
So, I'm legally insane and uncomfortable to be with, I guess
I don't actually see myself living anywhere forever
But, how'd ya know, that you've actually arrived, wherever
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
If they don't ever remember the month or day, since leaving
Families gettin' together, telling lies, now police intervening
I sometimes have to forget that I wrote it, to be able to like it
As long as fans think dope of it, why bother to disable the ****
Hoed fresh corn all day, everyday, been up since the crack of dawn
Pretty plenty of backyard swamp talkin' catfish, have since been born
Sun lights up the whole **** town, whilst it's still night-time
So, save your smoke doping act, 'til the dark of the daytime
CUCKUK, CUCKUK, cruisin' down some unnamed highways
That's what y’all be not knowin', 'bout da Tennessee ways
He'd hit a rabbit a sittin' and killed it with the barrel of his gun
While the dang hammer was a peckin' a wild hog to death
Like gettin' outta control and hardly takin' a shot of breath
Or being a drunken redneck, on a 7 day weekend hillbilly whiskey run.
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 10:48 PM UTC
dedicated to all of the women~poets here I love not-so-secretly
early to bed, early to rise,
stunned to sleep by a superhero trio,
sunset extraordinaire, food and drink,
but, nonetheless I am awakened
by a poem birthing,
water breaking,
now in full labor, burning borning,
inside a man's womb
full wattage, thus empowered,
the moonlight
nudges me awake at 300am
with something real
halfway between a slap and a tonguing kiss
of pure white ****** light
This night sun has an entourage
clouds in attendance,
attend-dance, exactly,
so many fawning, that the bright light
upon the water, normally a claro path,
tonight, but, just, a moon spot
smudged by the shapes of
cloud interlopers intervening
tween me and she...
(nature is female,
everybody knows that!)
yet, the night sun is so overwhelming bright
that everything is perfect outlined
edged sharp in relief,
the stand of six,
our bedroom guardians,
six oaks strong,
are quiet, at-attention still,
their leafy dress uniforms
perfectly pressed,
as I am too,
at full attention
now I understand why soldiers
award themselves oak leaf clusters
as medals of decoration, bravery
poor man's mind weak with admiration,
plots alternative W courses,
a. Walk on water as invited
b. Wake her with your tongue,
in order to put her back to sleep,
(with your tongue)
c. Write a poem with eye light
d. W-all of the above
unable to decide,
no, that's wrong,
incapable of decide,
I do the bravest act,
self-decorate myself with a
white badge of courage,
go back to sleep,
thinking I should not
drink so much wine on weekends,
but write of love and desire,
moons in July not June,
like the inner kid
wants to
and I look at the title this poem gave itself,
Full Moon Woman Life
wondering where the commas should be placed,
then realize it is all
one word
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
My heart may be just, but it keeps on filling.
With love by my side, I'm more than just willing.
But what is love, and even better, it's meaning?
Whatever it is, it shan't see intervening.
For without I am lost; a user with no drug.
Nothing else can compare to the almighty lovebug.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 2:21 AM UTC
I was on the edge of jumping
to my fate
but there You were sitting
in the sunrise, so late…
between the rays of grace
sitting and staring upon Your face
You saved me
You saved once again
the false and broken strings of this melody
I can no longer ignore
my heart it felt so dizzy
broken between the waves
of what would seem
like a fast approaching door
a fast approaching floor…
but then I felt
a feather dusting at my heart
lighter than my body weight
would feel in mid air…
it was Your Love, your neverendin’ love,
intervening-
Bridging my way back
to life
jumping my way back to life.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 4:05 AM UTC
‘tis almost a full moon
yet again,
the sands of time slip-slide away
leaving her to contend
with a plethora of gray.
as the sunset glow lingers
drifting across a blue sapphire sky,
loneliness yearns company.
this wine has softened
during these intervening years,
laced with a maturity
that now speaks the language of wisdom.
© 2021
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 1:30 PM UTC
my pointer finger
caresses her knuckles,
intervening between her fingers,
soft shell teasing,
sliding off her manicured fingernails,
in order that I return here
to lay down copious notes
I re-land inside the palm of her hand,
warm, a Caribbean beach smooth breezy sensation,
she wraps up my instrument of exploration
with a four finger grip, a signal fire
to escape, travel north up her arm
to the pause point of her bare shoulders,
where her body finally speaks,
why oh why, stop here,
skip, skip to my lou, lips,
my ******* jealous,
the ******* no less, now restless,
the rest of me requires
two hands, if, you can,
still caress with the best,
while typing with the pointy tip of your nose?
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 10:01 AM UTC