"repairs" poems
I'm a relationship engineer
Building engines to persevere
Through the loneliness I fear
That makes me panic
And seek out a mechanic
That tinkers
With my blinkers
But doesn't fix a thing
When I'm left with a sting
From what's defined as a fling
My pistons pumping
The way I'm *******
When I find a rocket scientist
That formulates the highest bliss
In his carefully calculated kiss
But I start to viciously *****
When our problems are subatomic
Because every decision
Creates nuclear fission
Which causes decay
And explosions of energy
His thoughts he relays
He sees me as the enemy
So I find a Christian
To pump my pistons
He has the morals of God
Which I figure can't be flawed
Though they may seem odd
But he doesn't love me
He feels he's above me
He acts like a martyr
Which makes me fall harder
But I'm left alone on the cross
He has forsaken me
He thinks I'm made of frost
He has mistaken me
I feel alone
In the brimstone
Of his dial tone
I found loneliness
In their phoniness
My engine needs trust
Otherwise it develops rust
But when everyone tries to act cool
Pain becomes my alternative fuel
Love once seemed like a jewel
Until my blood made a pool
I tried to get repairs
To find that nobody cares
I learned that science
Was of no reliance
And the pious life
Brought riot strife
So I find nowhere to turn
While my engine burns
Jan 14, 2018
Jan 14, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Attracted to the broken
Like myself
I yearn to be fixed
To make amends
To feel once again
To wake up to my favorite person at my side
It’s not in the cards for me
And it wasn’t for you
So broken
No matter the repairs
I’ll never feel like new
Find me in a thrift store
Along with the other gems
Marked down due to being used
Nov 23, 2019
Nov 23, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
“T'was the night before Christmas ...”
and Santa was busy.
The reindeer were antsy
the elves in a tizzy.
The missus was tending
the ovens like mad
And turning out cookies
to make children glad.
The wood chips were flying
the sawdust was thick
The workshop was bulging
with toys from St. Nick.
Contractors from Sega,
Nintendo and Sony
Were working on games
(and a robotic pony).
Iphones and Ipads
(with virus removal)
Were packed in their boxes
and stamped "Elf Approval".
Last minute touches
were added with flair
While elf stylists tended
to Santa's white hair.
Elf tailors were making
some last alterations
To Santa's red coat
and his waist tribulations.
The weather was fair
as the weather-elf stated
The routes were approved
and departure was slated.
Bells had been polished
and harnesses buffed
While repairs were addressed
for the hoofs that were scuffed.
The antlers were festooned
with ribbons and bells
And the reindeer were covered
with elf flying spells.
The clock approached
midnight as Santa was seated.
The countdown began
as the flight crew was greeted.
H-hour neared
and the tension was growing.
Outside it grew cloudy
and then, began snowing.
But Santa just grinned
as the weather-elf winced.
"Don't worry, my friend.
Our time has commenced."
For the weather was nothing
to Santa's conveyance.
His reindeer and sleigh
were immune to"delay-ance".
With a whirl of his whiskers
and a flick of his wrist
The reindeer were launched
in a flash of white mist.
And I heard him exclaim
through his teleport ray:
"ALERT TSA. Tell 'em
I'm on my WAY!"
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 9:27 AM UTC
Positive positivity
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Positive positivity
Oh having experience of negativity
So you lift yourself into positivity
In moving ‘tis the only way to go
The road into positivity,straight and true
In marking out the presence quality
Virtually confident in everything I do
Especially in a poetic way of life.
Positive positivity
Oh no ! Is a word I never wish to use.
Simple positive thoughts, repairs all
If you’re feeling down , think positive.
Think how, and thank your lucky stars
I had in equal measure , good and bad
Very soon I forget the bad it fails to exist.
In a wink of an eye, I’m wholly positive
The luckiest man alive because of love.
Your Love, darling , keeps me positive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip November 23rd. 2018
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 8:10 PM UTC
Cleanliness and ******
The ship was old once it had been a big ship now it was small
it had been overtaking by time, its shower system had sea water
which was nice enough to cool off when it was hot.
After having a shower, you needed a bucket of fresh water to rinse
the salt away if not you would scratch all night have irritated skin
For month we did not have a proper wash when our ship docked in
Bremerhaven for repairs and we got fresh water found I had
an extra pair of socks I didn’t know about
it was wonderful having a hot shower I stayed under it til someone
complained I was using all the warm water, even today the sense
of cleanliness makes me shudder with delight.
Whatever I had done in my youth the night before it helped
to have a shower and wash the sin away the smell of “life buoy.”
the only soap we knew about, made the difference the ******
loved it they knew you were clean ******
Jan 27, 2017
Jan 27, 2017 at 4:57 AM UTC
Far back in the ages,
The plough with wreaths was crowned;
The hands of kings and sages
Entwined the chaplet round;
Till men of spoil disdained the toil
By which the world was nourished,
And dews of blood enriched the soil
Where green their laurels flourished:
--Now the world her fault repairs--
The guilt that stains her story;
And weeps her crimes amid the cares
That formed her earliest glory.
The proud throne shall crumble,
The diadem shall wane,
The tribes of earth shall humble
The pride of those who reign;
And War shall lay his pomp away;--
The fame that heroes cherish,
The glory earned in deadly fray
Shall fade, decay, and perish.
Honour waits, o'er all the Earth,
Through endless generations,
The art that calls her harvests forth,
And feeds the expectant nations.
8.6k
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
360
Death sets a Thing significant
The Eye had hurried by
Except a perished Creature
Entreat us tenderly
To ponder little Workmanships
In Crayon, or in Wool,
With “This was last Her fingers did”—
Industrious until—
The Thimble weighed too heavy—
The stitches stopped—by themselves—
And then ’twas put among the Dust
Upon the Closet shelves—
A Book I have—a friend gave—
Whose Pencil—here and there—
Had notched the place that pleased Him—
At Rest—His fingers are—
Now—when I read—I read not—
For interrupting Tears—
Obliterate the Etchings
Too Costly for Repairs.
5.3k
T'was just before Christmas and I went down to the garage
To have my old car looked at by a fellow known as "Sarge"
He said I need tires and my wipers weren't so hot
My hoses all were leaking and my muffler was shot
The repairs just kept on coming and I saw a sparkle in his eyes
He was counting all my money, he was the devil in disguise
I told him "Thanks, but I would go and get another look"
Before I signed for his repair list and I was on the hook
So I went on to my friend's place to see what he could do
We've been friends for nearly 30 years...since 1982.
His mechanic took it out back and while he had it on the hoist
I saw a woman at the counter, looking rather moist
She said my car is leaking there's a hole that must be filled
I thought that if Rob had a coffee, it'd most certainly be spilled
A girl came in and she told Rob her boyfriend had loose nuts
And whenever he was driving her, they slid into the ruts
Rob stepped back, grinned a bit as he was looking down her front
And from where I stood behind her I could almost see her
Donation to the Angel tree that was standing in the corner
A door opened, a breeze blew in, and there was no time to warn her
Her skirt blew up, exposing her tattoo of some sprigs of holly
And Rob came round and covered her just like Sir Walter Raleigh
I'm sorry miss, for I did look when your skirt was lifted
And I must say, you made my night, for my drive shaft has shifted
And then a man came through the door and said "My name is Nick"
"I've problems with my reindeer and I need them seen to quick"
Rob said "we work on cars here sir , I can fix tires or a hose"
"It's nothing major son, I need a bulb for Rudolph's nose"
"It doesn't stay on like it should and the other deer get frantic"
"And I can't risk it going out when I'm over the Atlantic"
"So, if you would replace it now with something nice and bright"
"I'd pay you well for all your time and for aiding in my plight"
Rob stepped up, fixed Rudolph's nose and said "This one's on me"
"And for all work done in my shop you get a guarantee"
We all stood round as Santa left, for we new that it was him
For he left us each a candy cane in a metal alloy rim
And as we watched him fly away, I'm sure we heard him yell
"There's mistletoe tattooed on her too, but...where I'll never tell!"
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
The Doctor has a Sense of Humor!
<|>
give a surgeon a scalpel
and an excuse,
and the artist emerges,
for creativity is a good surgeon’s
natural habitat
Sure, sure, there’s a plan,
with best and acceptable outcomes,
but when messing with a real heart,
a sly ***** with numerous deceptive guises
at its disposal, you never for sure never know,
despite all the advanced imaging techniques,
exactly
what you will find once you go
spelunking
in caves of life and death
so, he takes a bit from here,
and a bob or two from there,
there a cut, here an incision deep,
Old McDonald provided a body,
or a canvas, and the Doc
is happy.
So I uncover holes where he
probed, redeploying the healthy,
like a good designer, Doc rearranges
and repairs, a travelogue of splicing and dicing,
his handiwork
Now standing over you for many hours,
can get tiring, though each ***** be
different, unique even, but leaving
a little marker, a stylized signature,
is well, is the rightful discretion of the artiste!
So you can imagine my surprise
when the tubes removed (ouch!)
the bandages ripped off in a
signature move of a delighted nurse whose
loves seeing grown men cry from lesser trivialities,
you cannot imagine my surprise
when I discovered my new tattoo,
upon my chest front and center!
*Herein please find your heart repaired,
and revitalized:
Please Note!
We guarantee our work for minimum 15 years
(Aug. 3, 2038),
but our disclaimer
we assume NO responsibility after that
if you should
happen to live for 30 YEARS or more*
Dr. P.
Sep 21, 2023
Sep 21, 2023 at 7:58 AM UTC
I am perching
I am searching
Sitting still
My mind filled
With the vigilance
Of a militant
Looking to invade
By throwing grenades
And committing atrocities
At a high velocity
Yet I'm made to lay and wait
My love feels like hate
Stuck in this crate
It's getting late
My feral fate
Makes me shake
Like the love intake
That makes me break
When you're raising the stakes
I see your fin in the water
Moving in for the slaughter
Acting like a shark
You go dark
Like a silent submarine
You float near the bottom
Your gun is submachine
That's how you caught them
Now it's my turn
For a bullet burn
Treat me like a ***** distractor
You're a fractured compactor
Leaving me partially intact
But most of me I lack
After your attack
I should thank you for taking out the trash
But I could've done without the clash
Because now I'm just a pile of ash
Stuck in a bird cage
At an increased age
If I become a phoenix and rise
It'll be an imprisoned surprise
I thought I had prepared
Yet now I need repairs
When it's my love I share
And it's casually broken
To be used as a token
You must be joking
There's no way I could've ever prepared
For the fact that no one ever cared
Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 5:14 AM UTC
Down by the lake, in the cottage made of stone
The porch is taken over by all the flowers grown.
The walkway needs weeded, and the chimney needs repairs
There are holes in the wood that we used to build the stairs.
The windows are fogged over from the dust in the air
Underneath the shade tree sits my worn out rocking chair.
Inside is full of cob webs, and smells of filthy must
The kitchen sink is tarnished, and covered in rust.
The bathrooms are molded from the absence of use
The wooden floors are covered with a thin coat of dew.
From the lack of attention and tender loving care
The beauty of the cottage has vanished in thin air.
If the time were taken to show how much we cared
The beauty of the cottage, and the warmth would still be there.
Over time it faded, the need of caring hands
Now down by the lake, the lonely cottage stands.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 11:27 AM UTC
Late April and only
coltsfoot—Tussilago farfara—breaking leaf litter.
Our daffodils, peonies and crocuses
are also making signs.
April is the cruelest month, I forget why.
A sweet slow Spring
no sudden changes
each leg and leaf unfolds deliberately. You can't miss it.
New York City's spring rushes like a yellow cab
into summer. One day leaves are wet,
next they’re leather. I prefer this slow dance,
birds mating on the sky, peepers evolving into frogs.
Repairs take weeks or months. Septic,
garage door, cracked windshield, clean windows,
build bridge, buy land, rake leaves off erosion control,
cut wood, prune lilac, paint lawn chairs.
More carefully inspect, identify, the insect
of the week, a fly with an ant’s body
that skirts the grass and falls in drinks.
Look more closely! It will be gone in a few days!
Then it will be the time of moths or fireflies,
mosquitoes and wasps. Mud road,
red-winged blackbird. The slashing stream
topples old trees. My legs hurt.
May 23, 2022
May 23, 2022 at 6:17 AM UTC
You were smiling in my heart today
quiet eyes spilling hints of your light
the footsteps you took left white jewels
as snowdrops arose with your passing
your soft calm soothed my fears
all things comes to pass and time cures all
the brush of your hand brings hope and new life
makes spirits soar repairs the hurt
your face will ever be beyond my touch
like the hares that dance at your feet
joyful as you herald the coming spring
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 5:01 PM UTC
From deep under the surface
Something stirs
The people of this city
Experienced a tragedy
A horror so traumatizing
The city walls and store blocks
Are scarred, both inside and out
Bullet holes and burnt buildings
Cemeteries filled with graves
Tombs of those who died
When the wrath rushed through
But still it lives on,
The city filled with natives and tourists alike
People sell, people buy
People remember but still people die
It is now a historic monument
But slowly the city repairs
Revealing only a faint scab
Fixed by reality
People say they will always remember
But how long 'til the scab is gone?
Lost, inside the flesh
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 1:40 PM UTC
There it was in the middle of nowhere
All grown up with wisteria vines
In the summer when the wisteria would bloom
It looked like a beautiful fairytale
Daffodils once grew beside the concrete porch
And azalea bushes too
Forsythia grew near the concrete walkway
It's yellow blooms I used to pick
In bouquets for my Mom in springtime
Two or three bushes bearing white flowers
Once grew beside the house too
Inside it looked Victorian
Even though it was built
In the 1940s or 1950s
How surreal and dreamlike
It did look inside and out
Even though when I saw it
It looked like repairs were a necessity
The floors needed to be torn down and replaced
The house was in dire need of electricity
And in want of being cleaned and organized
Bags of trash and other things
Needed to be sorted through
The house needed a new roof and ceiling
The ceiling and roof were falling through
Some of the floors were collapsing
Or they would crumble if you tried to put
Even one of your feet on one of the brittle floors
Yet that was my favorite home of all
And I miss you since you were torn down
Just last summer
It seems longer or shorter in some ways
In other ways it doesn't
Even though I never lived even a day
Inside of your comfortable hominess
My Mother and her sisters and parents did
My Dad courted her inside those very walls
Which were torn down just last summer
I wished I could have lived inside those walls
Replaced only what needed to be replaced
Keeping as much of you as I could
But you were destroyed
And I never had a chance
*Oh, how I miss you,
Dear little rustic country house
Which was like a home
And felt like home inside*
~Marian~
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
Dear Harry,
I see you're doing well these days.
One year later and I still watch as you grin and laugh with your friends.
Sometimes I just grin as well knowing the truth behind the plastic you call a smile.
You once told me that you feel like you don’t belong.
You get a burning in your chest thinking of how awful humanity is and how you wish you were a robot so your brain would match your body.
But when I told you from the anxious walls of my heart that I sort of feel the same but I'm not making a metaphor, I'm transgender
You said that I didn't feel it as intensely as you did so my identity wasn't that important.
I suppose I can tell you now that you became the reason why I agree with you about humanity.
Your face sickens me.
Sort of funny how everyone calls you Harry Potter because of a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on your cheek and it was a big joke and I always laughed because what a coincidence even though I never read the books or watched the movies and now because of you:
I never will want to.
I don’t know if you realise that you’ve shattered me.
Shattered me like the board you can cut in half thanks to years of karate and your hand crafted swords are part of the reason I never crossed you because if I just change myself hard enough maybe you would stop saying you could use them on me if I kept talking about how much I love everything if everything isn’t you.
Sometimes I would wonder if you could hear my knees fighting not to snap in half.
I would wonder if you knew that you are like a hurricane; strong and unpredictable.
And like a hurricane, you came storming and when your thunder rumbled and rain paraded all over me it left nothing untouched.
I could say you're a forest fire but that would make it hot and quick and emotionless.
No, you are a hurricane because hurricanes are wet and windy and raw and wild and it left me drowning.
Unlike a hurricane, your damage can not be fixed with teamwork and donations from those that feel sympathy.
The damage you’ve done is permanent and even with all the repairs I’ve made in the form of therapy sessions and promises that I shall overcome,
I.
I am still in ruins.
You are bitter but not sweet.
But for 17 torturous months I only saw it the other way around.
Reaching out to try to catch onto something worth fighting for
But this isn’t worth fighting for
Because my hands hurt from writing I’m sorrys.
Because my brain hurts from pushing out reasons you’re not worth it.
Because my soul hurts from fighting the back of my mind that still loves you.
You have rendered me obsolete.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 3:34 PM UTC
#
You are in there, I am certain of it--
Behind the gear's finely-honed,
precision fit gear..
in to gear
in to gear
into gear..
And I wonder.. do you want out?
The machine on the outside, self-repairs
Any attempt towards dismantle from
the external, is futile..
But the internal, beautiful girl..
"I don't know what you mean, about 'machine'"
She is apprehensive, those beautiful
brown eyes, looking up at me..
"Look down, sweet girl"
Her thighs, fully parted, as I slide
in to her.. those amazing hips,
moving so perfectly with mine, extracting..
Milking from me, my warm pulsing *****
a deeply-penetrating lubricant, pulsed
deeply into the machine
As if to lubricate its gears..
As if..
But penetrating so deeply, as to now
permeate the insides of the
mechanization's innerworkings--
turning from lubricant, to that
of a corrosive nature..
Fully coating now, the inner you..
as it turns back now, into that
of a healing balm
Bringing to you a moment of Light
and internal clarity--
long enough for you to see
That the machine is made vulnerable
by the ever-changing qualities of
Love that found its way through
As the awakened parts within you, for the
first time.. understand
the machine's love-blocking, nature
And you begin to choose, mid-orgasm
the machine's dismantle, from the inside--
*'Little by little..
Line, upon line..
Block, upon block..
Precept, upon precept..'*
Until we have the chance, once again..
to do it all again
#
Aug 15, 2021
Aug 15, 2021 at 11:38 AM UTC
Your arms were home, your love - the fortress I dared not wander from.
I was safe and you were happy, until the walls came crashing down.
A thousand breaks and then some,
in the foundation we thought was indestructible.
I suppose that maybe ignorance is bliss.
When the wind hit my cheeks and there was nowhere to retreat,
I knew it was the end of the home I'd grown accustomed to.
Shattered glass windows, tearing through my skin.
You broke to pieces in front of my very eyes,
and I stood there amongst the storm
like a deer in the headlights - destroyed by you.
I called in the best of contractors, to fix up the home I once knew.
But when the mess was cleaned up, you changed the locks on me.
With nowhere to go, I sought refuge in the beds of strangers.
But I keep finding shards of glass where no doctors can see -
lodged between my heart and the space you left between us.
Isn't it funny how safety can turn its back on you,
and how the best of repairs can never make things new.
It's time to find a new estate, with top line security.
I won't be hurt again, not taken by surprise.
I know you changed the locks,
and my doors will always stay closed.
But if you change your mind,
just climb in through my window.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
The captain held the wheel against the sea
His sails were gashed, but maintained their integrity
And so the vessel found its weary peace
in swaying waves where the birds feel less wind than breeze
The splintered wood would hold its bobbing form
until the husk could be retooled in the home port
And though the repairs will handle new storms,
battle scars of yesterday shall remain stalwart
Lest the ocean deep claim one more casket
of sailor’s lives, goals, and dreams before the maggots
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
I'm not quite sure how addiction grabbed me
I picked it up slow but it grew so vastly
Started with *****
which turned to puffs, powder and pills
both downs and ups
I'd have one in my hand
two more in my pocket
effects don't matter
just want to skyrocket
Please, take me away
to the places of unknown
help me escape
sober feelings, I've outgrown
No happy soul
been broken to pieces
the puzzle repairs
each time the **** hits
Hiding away
from both friends and family
deny every time
so please stop asking
A boy, once joyous
now fell from grace
peace of mind only comes
from numbing his face
No pride, sheer shame
pure feelings of failure
thoughts run wild'
Will it all end here?'
Partners in crime
now long deceased a harsh realization
of succumbing to the beast
Praying for help and
pleading for power
rise and prevail
stop trying to cower
There's a want and a need
plus strong will to succeed
to turn life around
since devoured by disease
Now I stand here humbled
with apologetic eyes
for my selfish acts
under a life self prescribed.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 2:37 AM UTC
Music is wonderful,
It gives us joy.
It could be classical
Or it could be like, "mate, ahoy!"
It is invisible and beautiful,
It soothes our souls.
Repairs what is broken,
It makes us whole.
It makes us laugh,
It makes us cry.
It makes us realize
How time has flown by.
It helps me cope
When I am down
It gives me hope
When I want to frown
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 10:24 AM UTC
As I look into your eyes
I see stars twinkling
And trees dancing
Between your lips
But your thoughts
Seem to be waved away
By the strong current of the
Ocean inside your skull-
I am totally lost in
Your forest where we
Used to camp our feelings up
And grill our agonies-
As my universe is not
Yet ready to let go of your
Broken constellation
For it repairs the
Unknown abyss of my every
Dimension that is screaming
"I don't want to lose you".
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
In the flawless dark
high overhead
Torea shrieks
ripping holes
in the silent korowai
of night
again
Torea calls
and further off
faint
again
now silent
the cloak ripples
settles
repairs the tears
stillness sprawls
warm
as aroha
Tricia Lambert
Torea-the Maori name of the Pied Oyster Catcher
Korowai-a ceremonial cloak
Aroha- love, unconditional love, similar to the Greek, agape
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
Riding in my backpack
chattering gibberish
she charms the man
who is in a good mood
so he repairs my typewriter
on the spot, no waiting,
for two six-packs of Bud.
He throws in a free ribbon, too.
“Don’t tell Boss,” he says, winking
at my daughter, who is as yet
too innocent
of her power.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC