"slicker" poems
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
To stop this moment
To relive the past
And to see the future.
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
To slow it down
To speed it up
And to play over.
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
To spend it wisely
To cherish it
And to learn from it.
If I had any super power I would want the power to control time.
Because it is the cruelest villain
It keeps moving regardless of our lives
It keeps ticking and tormenting
It claims to heal all wounds
It is the dictator of life.
I'd be stronger than super man
I'd be slicker than batman
I'd be bulkier than the hulk
I'd be faster than quicksilver
All because I'd have the power to control time.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
The rusted belt is tight
in our hometown city.
Black smoke masks the lights
In one gaseous setting;
the permenant fitting
Of our hometown city
Trees exchange steel
In our hometown city.
You’ve never seen the wheels
churn and the deals burnt
In the factories that take pity
On the nitty-gritty of our
Own hometown city.
The last laughs with us
In our hometown city
We don’t’ ride the Cali bus,
But yea, I'd say we are witty,
cause al'the prettiest girls
Live in our hometown city.
The river’s been burnt
In our hometown city.
Yea we’ve learned a lot
From our own ad(e)missions;
And now, clinics fill prescriptions
in ourown hometown city
In my own hometown city
We’re slicker than you,
Even though our York’s isn’t new…
Why? Watch my city revive in
Front of your eyes- then ask me;
Why is this your hometown city?
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:04 AM UTC
If there are infinite worlds,
there must be one where umbrellas never close-
hinges locked open like stubborn jaws,
gape-mouthed against walls in patient herds.
No one in their twenties owns one,
their hamster-cage apartments
too small for such luxuries.
They ask for rain jackets on birthdays.
Mary Poppins still drifts down Cherry Tree Lane,
her umbrella never folding,
only floating.
Children carry slips home
for violating umbrella laws,
forging signatures in loopy ink.
The Morton Salt girl wears a slicker,
yellow as a warning flare before the flood.
My mother walking me to kindergarten in rain,
transparent vinyl dome above our heads-
I, the opposite of a fish in its tank.
Her hair plastered to her forehead
by the time we reached the door.
Everyone looks most beautiful
with rainwater running down their face.
In the open-umbrella reality,
time can walk backward-
you can unwater a plant,
unpeel a clementine,
un-kiss someone.
Endings lift again,
fabric billowing, as if the story
had been left open in the wind.
Heather and Mike find the road out.
Rosemary tips the bassinet.
There, perhaps, neither of us was born.
What lay between us
stays open too long,
collecting rain until it sags,
slow and certain, like sugar
in the first storm.
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 8:06 PM UTC
A thought sometimes forms
I live too much
yet I do too little.
Woken at strange hours,
never asleep.
Rapt in raps
or wrapped in riddles
Chained to links
or hammered to handle
stubbed to bone
Mens et
Manus
There is time yet, I swear
To flourish
To dream
To make
To be
To do
To create
Will I?
We'll see
There's time yet to tell
Be yourself, they say
The best you you can be
But once more— Will I have time
To edit
I live less
I do less
Portfolio: empty
or at least, locked away.
Excitement too.
Blank slate
Blank palette
Is there any paint?
Can I truly make
excitement saturate?
Will I be able to place
value as I see fit?
Can the world be hewn slimmer, slicker
Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger
Tis daft I think, to amuse such a notion
But not necessarily so daft to be wrong
Emerson called it misunderstood,
Shaw found it unreasonable
But ay, theres the rub
That bed once made, must be lain in and
all dreams which might be had are alone not enough
Bloom effects don't work outside the movies.
Ideas are trash, these are recession times
Deflations made them a farthing a dozen
Started 10.03.11
Unfinished
D.B. Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
I went down to watch the ocean this morning - well, Long Island Sound anyway. My last chance for a while, classes start tomorrow. I wonder sometimes how I can be refreshed by that gray, drizzly, melancholy harbor - locked in winter’s intemperate grip - but I am.
The salty air seems thicker and richer, the sky bigger and wilder. There’s the relaxing sound mix of wave and gull. The ugly brown pelicans bickering like old, married couples, as a lone fisherman, in his yellow macintosh slicker, sorts his boat lines under the watchful, hopeful, hungry eyes of floating black-backed gulls.
Maybe I should become a sailor? Besides, I hear it’s a great way to meet guys.
Jan 24, 2022
Jan 24, 2022 at 10:51 AM UTC
Young Liam loved Orange
and liked to wear ties.
To his firehouse friends
He was one of the guys.
He had his own locker
a slicker and hat.
He also had cancer,
and a bad one at that.
From early on in his life
he fought neuroblastoma ;
An invasive tumor
a metastatic carcinoma.
His family who loved him
labored to save
their dear little child
Prince Liam the Brave.
He faced surgery bravely,
engaged in his fight..
He endured radiation
Chemo and knife.
When many a New Yorker
complains about stress,
Prince Liam was stoic
When put to the test.
Then just before Christmas
he suffered a relapse
He became neutrapenic-
His immune system collapsed.
With blood in his *****
And a spot on his lung
Liam grew weak.
his defenses undone.
An Amethyst stone
he received from a friend
was his talisman of hope
that he held to the end.
The worst part of the journey
was when hope was gone.
Then Liam lay, still and silent
in his mother's arms.
There are brave fire fighters
Who’ll be fighting back tears
Brave Prince Liam has died,
He lived only six years
There are many old people
still avoiding the grave
Who know less about love
Than did Liam the brave
We will gather together
In St Francis’ nave
To remember the life of
Prince Liam the brave
i
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 8:18 AM UTC
Where's the man whose love is big enough
To catch a waterfall?
Whose rain slicker is sturdy enough to let things roll
Who isn't afraid to stare down a stream
Or look a storm right in the eye?
This man doesn't run;
The water-bearer--
On his shoulders he lifts the weight of love.
Do you know how many times I've seen
A man turn and run away from me
Instead of rushing to the sea?
He trickles away from feeling;
He dries up.
No, the man I'm speaking of
Is more than an oasis in a desert of difficulty;
He is a full-on river
Gaining speed
As he rolls down the mountainside
Carving canyons as he goes
Defeating the foes
That try to make us hide
from our emotions
--In fact, this man feels oceans
And never turns back
On his decisions
Doesn't reconsider the love he's given
or what he lacks
Because when he lacks, he makes more.
This is the secret of persistence
That keeps the sea kissing the shore
Because at times the tide gets pulled back by the force of the moon
But this man keeps sovereignty over the moment, knowing that soon
He will come crashing back onto her shore
And she will be waiting.
Yes, the earth would wait
Solid as a rock
for his return-
Her faith unshakable,
Though she is moved by his caresses.
She remains ever the same,
But she is molded, changed
By his loving form.
Made even more beautiful
By his presence.
Where is a man like this?
I've yet to find
One with such ardent purpose of mind
As to sweep his lady love
Off her feet, in a great flood
Of kisses and hugs
and promises fulfilled
The man who has an immutable will
And an unalterable course
Who dissolves the rock
And inscribes his love into the very earth
Not just by strength or force,
but perseverance
And resolve for all he's worth.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Asked to write a poem of yellow, what could I possibly have to add that would celebrate this word found within the sun, the moon, at times, the stripes of a bumblebee, a butterfly, a yellow jacket's sting, the brilliant splash on a painted bunting, the goldfinch, canary, a yellow breasted warbler, baby chicks, a rubber duck, a baby duck, too, a dandelion in spring, a sunflower, a rose of sorts, a lily, daffodils in a field of wheat, rubber boots upon your feet on a rainy day, a slicker, too, a school bus, a number two pencil, a taxi when you're running late, a tangy lemon, a banana, sometimes a grapefruit, butter on a pancake, egg yolk for your western omlet, lemon drops, cheese, macicheese, and a cheese pizza, too, yellow hair on a farm boy, a piece of straw in his father's mouth, his yellow-haired beautiful sis, her yellow polka-dotted dress, a yellow kitten, a dog in a sad movie like old yeller.
So nice, the color yellow, on a sunny day in May.
r ~ 5/3/14
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 3:07 PM UTC
He floated like a butterfly,
Stang like a bee –
The one and only
Muhammad Ali.
“I’m The Greatest”, he always said,
20th Century Sports Personality,
Put his rivals to bed.
Yes, he WAS the Greatest, that’s for sure.
Above the rest by a massive score.
Faster than a hummingbird,
Slicker than a snake,
Those quick hands of his
They made opponents quake.
He’d get into bed
Before the light went out.
Rarely a whisper,
Usually a shout.
Like a long-distance runner
Ali had the endurance.
Anyone who fought him
Needed lots of insurance.
Ali was great and didn’t he know it.
A witty speaker and amusing poet.
Some of his lines I’ve used right here:
They had his rivals shaking with fear.
No way would Ali fight the Viet Cong.
For that he merits a Nobel Gong.
He was the champion of the oppressed,
A hero with whom we all were blessed.
He had charisma, way beyond sport.
Ali influenced our every thought.
He’ll call into Hell on the way to Heaven,
To knock out Satan, in round seven.
Paul Butters
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 6:57 AM UTC
Maybe you said it once
And breathed it quietly in my ear
As we sat in your freezing car
Parked in front of the library
The roads were slick
But you were slicker
Handing out compliments like candy
Maybe you said it a couple of times
Over and over on the telephone
As we both laughed into the receiver
Me picturing your smile with every word
The connection was weak
But I was weaker
Falling head first into you
Maybe you said it a thousand times
And held my face in your hands
As we laid in that twin sized bed
Your body pressed against my own
The room was warm
But you were warmer
Moving for the first time in sync
But maybe you never said it at all
Or at least you never meant it
As you said this was the last time
Standing on the other side of the room
The air was heavy
But I felt heavier
Fracturing me piece by piece
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 11:58 PM UTC
Dry brown cattails fall over one another in autumn
each year crossing on the forest floor,
waiting for spring rain.
Trees line the neighborhood street but true beauty
lives in the swamp down below.
We ran through branches, slicker boots in the mud
crunching through the tall grass and fallen leaves
exploring where the deer sleep. Graceful bucks
peruse the land. I try to catch a glimpse at dusk
when the silent fog begins to rise.
Forgotten streams dart through the reeds where
shallow water is perfect for spawning Northern.
Fallen tree trunks, ominous giants are the
only way to cross the creek
with dangerous swirling currents my daddy
always warned me about.
Poplar bridge is covered with graffiti and scars
the place I got my first french kiss
while the sun sank down into the swamp’s horizon
and the sky filled with precious stars.
The childhood place you yearn for
after the years go by
When every dark thought drives the car down the road,
ending up on that bridge just to watch the creek flow.
Stillness in the middle of a city
isolated from the corruption outside
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
frozen in time he was quite the spectacle
thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines
projected from kaleidoscope eyes
sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions
caught hot handed
both in expectation and reminisce
so awkwardly present
most nights
he spins fairytales
double-dipping moons in molten watches
skewered with his arms
these wooden poles
stirring the coals buried in ashes
he steps lightly.stomps
dances with the rings of saturn
then rolls like thunder
chasing Zeus's sore words
zig-zagging down to earth
ooohhhh…..
he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop
that bebop
but they break for his habit of
making promises
he who holds time in the cave below his tongue
which now juts left off the reef of his lip
slip into
trip - - - skip
fall.into.this.
go mad for the pitch of his sweat
glaring at the spotlight
Dalí
painting worlds in the moments
between your ears and soul
he is god to their populations
and their hymns excite
rhythms ignite
visions of hard candy
tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones
he does not belong in a gallery
no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig
should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius
he makes bombs from tribal instruments
wigwam concoctions
set to test resting souls for pulses
paradiddle defibrillator
triplet stent for arteries
he is tall
and now thin
pressed against the wall as if under interrogation
splitting breath from its carbon
asphyxiated by the frame
he spells his words with motion
I find him
mute
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Judah bids us "Good morning!" at nine at night,
He's like Fred Astaire,
Big moves and big ears.
Dylan is late coming in,
Sliding out of his leather jacket with a sour expression -
He's too cool for this game.
Lindsey drags in the speaker system,
All goofy grins and ugly sweaters,
And she's so happy to see us.
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Andy with his slick moves
and slicker hair.
Matt who always smelled strange
but lost to Kevin.
Susan with her tight, swinging hips
and constant critiques.
Pete thinks he can do this,
and then breaks your arm.
Caleb concentrates too hard,
and tries not to look you in the eyes.
Josh gets bored with the basics,
deciding to breakdance instead.
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
Rock step, trip-le, trip-le
And after an hour of being passed from one lead to the next
Like a hot potato,
And then standing with your back against the basement wall
During the free-for-all,
You decide you rather be studying algebra
and leave.
Lindsey waves goodbye.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 2:05 AM UTC
Amelia wore a yellow slicker raincoat,
rain or shine, Every day without fail
And her smile was almost as bright as that
But not quite.
Amelia took off the raincoat in the seventh grade, when
a boy said she looked like a duckling,
"the ugly duckling". They laughed, but her?
Not quite.
Tenth grade rolls around. The raincoat is
collecting dust in the very back of a closet filled to the brim
with clothes no one could say were an ugly duckling's feathers.
First day of school, and it begins to rain. Pour, even.
But not quite.
Amelia is in a rush. She grabs the first raincoat she sees,
the ugly duckling yellow slicker. She
begins to cry, and her tears are almost
blending in with the rain.
But not quite.
with no other choice, she wears her feathers.
she expects laughter, and pointed fingers
but she is met with the same smiles as
she always was.
"Cute raincoat, Amelia!"
And she begins to smile, almost as wide as she did
when she was an innocent duckling.
But not quite.
For Amelia, who found her wings
in an old yellow slicker raincoat,
smiled wider.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 8:28 PM UTC
Sitting here hoping you miss me
Cause things ain't been the same
Since that good for nothing city slicker
Keeps trying to give you his last name
Rolling into town
Like a brand new Cadillac
Well I'm here to tell you mister
I want my baby back
He may take you to far off places
Places we could never go
Like over there in Georgia
Where you could visit the streets of Rome
Or take you to a romantic dinner
With candle light just you and he
Toasting you by the riverside
In Paris, Tennessee
You can drive a world away from here
In his fancy sports car like it weren't nothing
Clinking your bottles of Lone Star beer
High stepping it out in Dublin
I even here tell he's taken you
To the sunny shores of Naples
Way down South in Florida
Something I was never able
But can he take you out frog gigging
Or catch fireflies in a jar
In all your worldly gallivanting
Don't you miss the way we were
Has anything he done for you
Been as sweet as chewing on a piece of Bahia grass
While standing in an open field
Watching the clouds blow past
Or listening to a Whippoorwill
Sing out it's nightly song
On the front porch you and me swinging
To it's rhythm all night long
Don't give a hoot about places he takes ya
That's about all I gotta say about that
After all this highfalutin society traveling
All I want is my baby back
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
City Slicker was lost in the bush -
two days without food
and no water
(battery in his smartphone died
so he couldn't google how to survive)
and then he stumbled into a farm
and he found a nice big cow
and he started drinking its milk straight off
But naive City Slicker, he died
How?
The cow sat down
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:36 AM UTC
I search this ocean of emotional wrath,
Rage building up from below the core,
I study the textbook acts of feeling hopeless,
In a world of halfwitted fools,
Whom I claim superiority over.
Behold! This artifact of false pride,
I discovered it as I meandered the ocean on my love boat,
Fighting constant rouge waves of selfishness,
It calmly floated through the white foams.
I defected on the **** deck,
Holding no desire for consideration of my mates,
Mates who could care less for me,
And my prejudice towards sailing on this body of water,
They then made me walk the plank.
My heart rate reaches a point of vulnerability,
As I struggle to hold my breath below the surf,
I lasted unusually longer than a month's worth of travel,
Floating on nothing but my buoyancy,
I reached shore,
Suffocating with no use of my hands and feet.
Ironically,
A lady fisherman retrieved me from the waves,
Reciting a prayer, then proceeding CPR,
I regain consciousness, gasping for air,
Forgetting what was to become of me,
I grab her by the torso of her slicker,
And kiss her passionately,
With no ***** given.
She did of course kiss me back,
Confused but delighted,
Once she realized what was occurring,
She pulled away smiling,
I gave her a glance projecting my ruthlessness,
Because I am in fact,
Superior to the king himself.
The sun looked innocent,
As the clouds rolled in viciously,
This storm seemed like an old friend,
I recall it's grubby warfare,
Kicking me around as I swayed to and fro,
On the mahogany of my dear rig,
A rig that has been stolen from me,
On the lost sea of emotional wrath.
Oct 9, 2016
Oct 9, 2016 at 7:14 AM UTC
**Each day passing by in a wild-eyed dash
In truth my soul fell aside, but bluer birds still doth call
Missed that cardinal harken when I set down my last two cents
Kickers of tricks, scroll-ers of myth, bottlers of ships
Knew it all along, just couldn’t stiff the rest
Refuse to capitol, refuge atop the pious politic that steeps these hills
Is it not hard to tell? The meanings of what buys in bulk
The people is we, of what sells slicker than plot itself
A minority rule, hid reasons from majority fooled
That is working trade class, taught to chain drive
The gleaming sheen glowing green, crowning jewel¬¬¬ is as mist and steam, fleeting as the wash of this worlds seething seas
We, the misanthrope of being, bloom in the warmth of idea
Only to recede at the water mark high of each our lives
Authenticity bless the distant time, costless venture to each about die, salute through another caesars’ dilated eye a definition
Eons in annunciation; immortality flashing by
Reverence cannot lie, not long at least neathe a chipping patina
Gold leafed by the hand of man, coerced creations’ fondling finger tips strips thin, leaving us then to watch the weathering
Not a one may ever remember for too quickly or too timely
Arrives dismemberment, a cyclic certainty, often relegated falsely
As loss or gain, truly misspoken frames for reference
At any given attempt to render the language of tongues, oh speaker the son of the morning shamelessly ****** by predecessors increasingly lavish
Phonemic savage; life running rabid, splicing love over the atom
The simple one whom tends a patch of what he calls “cabbage”
Knowing always the wordless truth that is his field fallowing
Unconvinced by everyone, save himself if nothing else
Penitent candor dangle, frameless wonder can you hear the thunder?**
Oct 17, 2013
Oct 17, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
She crawls on your back to smell your lovely fragrance. Ties her tongue within her victims and manhandles them. Her bitter but sweetened love puts a curse on the ones she loves. She plays her victims like a puppet and watches them gradually suffer. Her manipulative clothing swarms humans like bees. They’re her ball n chain she carries with her. She’ll eat you alive but in such a tender way. Slicker than a rain coat, wiser than a priest, sneaky like a snake, she captures her loved ones and brew them like homemade stew. Her delicate yet scaly skin shows her true cruel identity. Her backbone cringes up when she senses trouble. You can feel her grasped nails sinking into your skin while she plays her part. The remembered scarce scars she leaves on your skin when she’s done with you. You only see her in the dark when spoken to. She’ll bend rules when it becomes hasty but keep it mellow when she needs it quiet. Her appealing figure will tease you and steal your humanity. All but within she’s no good. She will wrench your neck and break every bone in your body. Like a vampire, she’ll steal your blood like a thirsty hound and feed it to her own system. No one can’t be trusted with this woman on your shoulders. She will strip your identity like a banana’s peel. Her mindful whispers would tell you things your mind cannot control. Go crazy and that will make her excited. The anxiety will thrive and grow like a fetus. Her body pressed against yours, hitting your ribs like stone. You can’t even breathe but only a whiff. She will clench on you like a bats claws. She’ll be your genie, give you al l your dreams and wishes, but only to please you while your hers. Sick with envy, that’s what she’ll do to you. Love her now but hate her later. Don’t let a fool play your cards. Stay away from The Sneaky Lover.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
roundabout, unsteady weight
of my feet upon the sidewalk, sinking
deep into the cracks of drug dealers
and ambling adolescents
and old mothers
and young fathers, and whatever else
this city has to offer, its population
unknown to me, bewildering
since where i come from, everybody
has a name
and i know it
so this is weird
the imbalance between known
and unknown, the strange feeling
of a shift in the atmosphere that follows me
the loss of control that i feel
when i step down from the bus and make my way
through the crowd, feeling drunk
and off-kilter, feeling like
a drifting newspaper, out of date
trying to find some sense of community
but instead i find only small relationships
each separate from the other
each with a different dynamic, a different colour
a different reason for staying together
a different reason for falling apart
(and that happens
so much faster here)
and yet somehow i find that
i like it this way
having so many little lives, towns
to choose from
that there is always somebody, somewhere
willing to brighten my day
and so i think i’ll be okay, i’ll transition
into a city girl, all hardened and shiny
and maybe even stylish
with only the roots of my home peeking out
from beneath my feet, saying
don’t forget
and i won’t
i promise
city slicker pinky swear
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:36 AM UTC
I fell in love with a girl, she's lemon and lace,
we're spinning through corridors in outer space.
I am nothing but a city-slicker
with a bloodstream of liquor
asking this angelic being to dance.
I don't deserve that kind of chance.
So instead I sit and bob my head,
imagining her inside my bed...
sleeping by my side,
a thought I never tried.
Trust me, I don't want to ****
to know you're safe would be enough.
The ashes of my cigarette
scream the nothings I regret,
for she is made of morphing stars
and I'm brawling in dingy bars.
In my head, she’s just for me...
For her, I’d break reality.
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
Twisting
Slithering
A never-ending chaotic morass
Winding through
No sooner does the light of dawn bleed over the horizon
Than the shadowy form of dread
Eclipses and quenches the fledgling beam
Waging a constant battle
Darkness always seemingly victorious
or...
Ba da da ba
Juxtapose the extremities
Daddy-o
The slicker downs a bottle of rye
Hits the open road in a beat up coupe
Off to see that daring young man
On the flying trapezoid
Zoom - zap - yowza
Upside
Downside
Thru the water
Ellipsis!!
Awakening
Comes
Slowly
But
Inevitably
Like
the inexorable process
Of
continental d r i f t
Self-awareness
Dawns upon the unsuspecting soul
Crashing down
Edifice of substance
No more.
Nov 18, 2010
Nov 18, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
What can i serve today for a lovely miss
Humanity and you mister World?
Eee...
Hm!
I would like to see the menu, please!
Oh, yes, the menu ... just a moment. . .
Darling, I would love to have
Weatherwise Mushrooms with Weepy weightless Asparagoses
served with those fantastic moral dips.
They are phenomenal!
And you know what:
The other day lady Greedy ordered light lush - a delightful dish. . . and after having this goergous revelation of supreme tastes. . . she was becoming slimer and slicker. . .and thinner. . . she had enjoyed it so much! It was incredible! Her skin became purer, translucent, laced with
amazingly glistening diamonds and then. . .
she. . . can you believe that! just dissappeared into thin air
saying with blissful tears within her eyes:
Humanity - I have never told you, that in fact. . . I have always loved you more than your luscious husband. . . you are a real darling. . .
sweetie pie. . . so long. . .
I'll miss you tremendously!!!
And pufffff. . . she was gone! Can you imagine that!?!
And luscious... why on Earth, would she use such a word?
Strange:
And you, honey?
What will you have?
Are you listening to me!?
Hm... just let me see the **** menu. . . first!
Planty of food in this fancy restaurant - and I'm starving to death!
Where is this wannabe waiter - Forgods sake!
We are waiting him for ages. . .
There!
Well - here you go madam. . . menu
sir. . .
I recommend to you - our daily
well-bread tacos for starters
served with authentically homegrown
veggy
wellbeing
mixed with well-beloved
well-coocked main course
: : : :
We have also some excellent
well Vintage wine
of trust, year 5195. . .
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC