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"solvent" poems
apricots and cigarette smoke: your smile is infectious. heat leaking through the little slit in the window: melt like cool frosters on a hot summer day - melt into me lets become solvent in this little car; (I wouldn't mind.) combine together, like our parents and parents before them. molecular; everything, anything - we are science. I am not afraid, it is you who takes the air from my gasping lungs; - look! at his beauty; divine. © A. Leigh
0
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
Chemistry
Softly seductive, some solvent serenity Under unbelievable umbrella unlimited Basking baked, both bonafide believers Making music more meaningful, memory's made Intellectual, introspective, incalculably impervious So **** said sits salted, suspecting supplantation Soon silly slips said summarize serendipitous Indefinitely inplosive, internalized into intangible inflagrante Viciousness voided, vague variables vital Eroticism enduring, end erit empathy
0
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
Submissive
She is the vindictive snow Beautiful, cold causing her chilling touch to leave me numb She creates an overload of dopamine for me But like I said she left me numb She compressed limerence upon me The concentric feelings I have for her  linger This contours her opaque heart Leaving her pliable words lay rendering in my mind She applies this solvent to it leaving me broken Forlorn she left me Yet, the tactile, numbing sensation keeps me going For she is the one I love Causing our hearts to be diptych artwork off our hinges.
0
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC
The Pronoun Game.
Solvent and solution Kept assuaged for so long Treading in the selfishness of my subconscious state Of barely traceable memories, spurred on by the gravity of time spent At the briefest hint at past involvement Each leaf falls, eventually. Every pristine little well formed tended to. Each nurtured, cared for, parcel or idea. I can watch them for hours Watching them fall, one by one, for hours. When days start to bleed together, out of the corner of my eye, I can always see them, marking progression. Collecting in drifts, then, taken by the wind, then The rot sets in. I used to watch this. I used to find time. The roof cast me in its shadow, even standing along the banister that runs along the length Even as the final rays of sun start to vanish one at a time
0
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
Wednesday
Metamorphosis is life's basic oxygen, mind needs to learn the art of alteration, everyday is a process of transformation and evolution. Metamorphosis brings in a win,win situation, teaching life's strongest lesson, bringing forth a clear foundation for every situational validation. Reformaton is the best way to express and impress. metamorphosis is the symbiosis to a positive progress. Change is the only constant, the only solution to life's solvent. Master the art sooner than later, metamorphosis is always for the better.                 © Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
0
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 11:57 AM UTC
METAMORPHOSIS
On rising heat, killdeer flush to decoy enemy-- threat to its young that roams too close They rush to skim on hayish blur wailing over wildflowers drying Fretful twitter in perpetual flight swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies-- debris from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky toward a ridge of stag horn sumac presuming horizon primordial behind which time and city-- drift and wobble on rising heat-- after rush hour Rising Heat Rising-- to meet my mind on its way down from my post behind the laundromat where I view it all-- rising-- where I usually go in search of quiet to almost hear the ocean      two hundred miles away to strain words from wind      in careless conversation to wonder over      missed whispers.... But not today In rising heat, I went down in search of something better--      your eyes again      solvent for my presence of mind      dissolvers of hours and the order of things But I need an excuse!      To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!      For your eyes again! And still I need more-- being feverish, weak Or? Or... should I take the cure?      To deny ...To deny To deny what? Overtones from a sea of years? I don't know!  Whatever it was! Nothing explain it... I melt... I'm gone....
0
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
After Rush Hour
I am alone with you. A fire burns in the distance It lights our faces As before in the empty cinema, Where we arrived, at some beginning To watch a foreign film. Our eyes, In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,   What words could never speak The tips of seats, rows of air And the moony screen, A tableau of feathers and cloud Two of us, alone, as one Rapt in the spread of wings. Later, alone we dine in the Café   Campagne. Our conversation   Deafens a burgeoning crowd Coffee was nectar, our words   Were whispering petals. Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest   Sorrow on your face, the green ocean In your eyes, I was cleansed   By your tears.  I have always Known you. Across the border on the far island, You stepped into the waters with me And when you disrobed you lit the stars And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin Your slender legs, columns that taught   The Greeks in Helens age, touched the water   And the sky. I saw the milky way that night. Síneánn, I am your Pablo We are two white birds sailing Over the foam of the sea. Solvent to my stone you are the hinge   To my casement world.  Rain petal Voice, lithe, alabaster woman, I am lost in your Sargasso eyes   I hold your skin, my Selkie Sweet Niamh, I have lived   One hundred years this week. It is warm in the distance In the country of the sun We end at the house in Umbria In the autumn, there is no word Siberia, my light Rosaleen. Now is harvest time.   At the great table we feast   With family and friends   And I am not alone with you.
0
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Síneánn
I am alone with you. A fire burns in the distance It lights our faces As before in the empty cinema, Where we arrived, at some beginning To watch a foreign film. Our eyes, In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,   What words could never speak The tips of seats, rows of air And the moony screen, A tableau of feathers and cloud Two of us, alone, as one Rapt in the spread of wings. Later, alone we dine in the Café   Campagne. Our conversation   Deafens a burgeoning crowd Coffee was nectar, our words   Were whispering petals. Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest   Sorrow on your face, the green ocean In your eyes, I was cleansed   By your tears.  I have always Known you. Across the border on the far island, You stepped into the waters with me And when you disrobed you lit the stars And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin Your slender legs, columns that taught   The Greeks in Helens age, touched the water   And the sky. I saw the milky way that night. Síneánn, I am your Pablo We are two white birds sailing Over the foam of the sea. Solvent to my stone you are the hinge   To my casement world.  Rain petal Voice, lithe, alabaster woman, I am lost in your Sargasso eyes   I hold your skin, my Selkie Sweet Niamh, I have lived   One hundred years this week. It is warm in the distance In the country of the sun We end at the house in Umbria In the autumn, there is no word Siberia, my light Rosaleen. Now is harvest time.   At the great table we feast   With family and friends   And I am not alone with you.
Continue reading...
49
Silence. Solvent. Substituted; subsidised then marginalised instituted and muted. And, often persecuted. Rationanalised by abstraction: every minuscule interaction dissected. All that is left is convoluted, misconstrued and rejected. The lucid bewildered. The disillusioned bejeweled: rooted in their state of mind. Effortlessly self-proclaiming restraining and refraining purging the imagination: the waning of maligned mankind. And all of his illuminated limitations.
0
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:38 PM UTC
Illumination
What a strange occurrence it must be, To be stuck to a wall, No hope of being freed. What a strange and scary notion, To be forced to cease all motion, While stuck to a wall, Dreaming of a potion. I wish a friend would come along, Bring some solvent please, Because I have been stuck to a wall, For a week or two at least. Though, it must be a funny sight, For the curious passerbys, To see me glued against a wall, Squirming at my own demise. I've never hated a thing more Than I do this glue, That stuck me to this ******* wall, When I tried to stick you!
0
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
"Glue" - 6-Minute Poem Series
Fluctuating back and forth on the idea of how to relieve The theme of cynicism throughout your life; Tough like nails: too stubborn to let go of whatever They were hammered into; the hits we take Make us unstable and unmovable from certain aspects. You chose to Stitch your eyes up With a thin piece of cynical string and a metal needle. Threading the idea of light and dark in each vessel, Causing your body parts to glow and show Off the direction of ideas, in out and down, But never up, for the sake of falling for the Instinctual trust and hope humans so conveniently thrive for. Conquered and obtained the conflict from your child Hood, fluctuating on the idea of morally right And morally wrong. Cough, cough, cough. Right Lung punctured by stale smoke, your lips twitch in The environment. Blood swells in your veins, forget That women’s ******* are to feed her children. Wipe the grin off the old man whose sipping warm Whiskey, tell him his wife is six feet under and partying With the demons he drove her to acquire. Like water, you are the universal solvent Cleaning, clearing, conquering and Creating a new symbiosis with human beings and The world they are submerged in; We take it for granted. Cynicism in brevity, is beautiful for the fact that it claims to be Open and calm like ocean waves during low tide Or a baby child’s gaggle and coo. Fluctuating between calm And ignorant, more so unintentionally rational to the point Of tearing your human anatomy apart and dipping the Soon to be suffocated air in heavy smoke. I’m afraid Humans just can’t handle the **** truth of reality.
0
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
Cynicism
Fluctuating back and forth on the idea of how to relieve The theme of cynicism throughout your life; Tough like nails: too stubborn to let go of whatever They were hammered into; the hits we take Make us unstable and unmovable from certain aspects. You chose to Stitch your eyes up With a thin piece of cynical string and a metal needle. Threading the idea of light and dark in each vessel, Causing your body parts to glow and show Off the direction of ideas, in out and down, But never up, for the sake of falling for the Instinctual trust and hope humans so conveniently thrive for. Conquered and obtained the conflict from your child Hood, fluctuating on the idea of morally right And morally wrong. Cough, cough, cough. Right Lung punctured by stale smoke, your lips twitch in The environment. Blood swells in your veins, forget That women’s ******* are to feed her children. Wipe the grin off the old man whose sipping warm Whiskey, tell him his wife is six feet under and partying With the demons he drove her to acquire. Like water, you are the universal solvent Cleaning, clearing, conquering and Creating a new symbiosis with human beings and The world they are submerged in; We take it for granted. Cynicism in brevity, is beautiful for the fact that it claims to be Open and calm like ocean waves during low tide Or a baby child’s gaggle and coo. Fluctuating between calm And ignorant, more so unintentionally rational to the point Of tearing your human anatomy apart and dipping the Soon to be suffocated air in heavy smoke. I’m afraid Humans just can’t handle the **** truth of reality.
Continue reading...
33
On rising heat, killdeer flush to decoy the enemy-- threat to its young that roams too close They rush to skim on hayish blur wailing over wildflowers drying Fretful twitter in perpetual flight swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies-- debris from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky toward a ridge of stag horn sumac presuming horizon primordial behind which time and city-- drift and wobble on rising heat-- after rush hour *Rising Heat Rising-- to meet my mind on its way down from my post behind the laundromat where I view it all-- rising-- where I usually go in search of quiet to almost hear the ocean      two hundred miles away to strain words from wind      in careless conversation to wonder over      missed whispers.... But not today In rising heat, I went down in search of something better--      your eyes again      solvent for my presence of mind      dissolvers of hours and the order of things But I need an excuse!      To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!      For your eyes again! And still I need more-- being feverish, weak Or? Or... should I take the cure?      To deny ...To deny To deny what? Overtones from a sea of years? I don't know!  Whatever it was! Nothing explain it... I melt... I'm gone....*
0
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
After Rush Hour
Ink and rabies flows in our veins. Copper cogs hold our eyes into place, and we can see the undulating liquors flowing like waters in a transparent waterbed, rolling back and forth with gravity. Ink and rabies flows in our veins. They came with togetherness, in the same pen, passed along, gently, from one hand to another, a friendly enough gesture, cultured, combined, colluded into a single consciousness of tactful inks together, tactful links together, a single solvent. They were once separate towns...separate people...until Radii Ink and Yuli Rab were together...
0
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 1:12 PM UTC
The Towns Ink and Rabies
standing pin    with military tension            a dead suit torted stance in the mirror solvent commandeering a flect stare       more punish than my double could lance me                                                      - salute
0
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 10:04 AM UTC
black tie attire
What fresh invention, Breaking with convention; To press down with anger, And drive firm with depression. Comfort in the arms, of a Thorny ex. Bathed in attention. A hopeless obsession- the silenced Tongue wags, In this quiet procession.
0
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:48 PM UTC
Solvent
The poet,he seemed more a runaway priest, Was grounded by black lace. A bigtime kiss blaze with a novelist. Strutting her literary living,she was The fireball blitz,extreme. The scorekeeper some term Karma, And others call Chance, In solvent stock fashion, Dealt deadly destiny. The eye-opener fatal love Crrawled into a crying song. The  guitar,a jailhouse flower, Celebrated the greatt flair for folly For writers,where the grass is greener.
0
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
Where The Grass Is Greener
I am alone with you.  A fire burns in the distance, It lights our faces  As before in the empty cinema,  Where we arrived, at some beginning,  To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,  In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,   What words could never speak, The tips of seats, rows of air  And the moony screen,  A tableau of feathers and cloud, Two of us, alone, as one, Rapt in the spread of wings.  Later, alone we dine in the Café   Campagne. Our conversation   Deafens a burgeoning crowd,  Coffee was nectar, our words   Were whispering petals.  Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest   Sorrow on your face, the green ocean  In your eyes, I was cleansed   By your tears.  I have always  Known you.  Across the border on the far island,  You stepped into the waters with me  And when you disrobed you lit the stars  And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,  Your slender legs, columns, tilting Toward heaven, in the age of Helen, Touched the water and the sky, I saw the milky way that night.  Síneánn, I am your Pablo,  We are two white birds sailing  Over the foam of the sea.  Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge To my casement world.  Rain petal  Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,  I am lost in your Sargasso eyes, I hold your skin, my Selkie, Sweet Niamh, I have lived   One hundred years this week.  It is warm in the distance, In the country of the sun, We end at the house in Umbria, In the autumn, there is no word  Siberia, my light Rosaleen.  Now is harvest time.   At the great table we feast   With family and friends   And I am not alone with you.
0
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
Shineane ( Síneánn )
I am alone with you.  A fire burns in the distance, It lights our faces  As before in the empty cinema,  Where we arrived, at some beginning,  To watch a foreign film. Our eyes,  In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,   What words could never speak, The tips of seats, rows of air  And the moony screen,  A tableau of feathers and cloud, Two of us, alone, as one, Rapt in the spread of wings.  Later, alone we dine in the Café   Campagne. Our conversation   Deafens a burgeoning crowd,  Coffee was nectar, our words   Were whispering petals.  Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest   Sorrow on your face, the green ocean  In your eyes, I was cleansed   By your tears.  I have always  Known you.  Across the border on the far island,  You stepped into the waters with me  And when you disrobed you lit the stars  And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin,  Your slender legs, columns, tilting Toward heaven, in the age of Helen, Touched the water and the sky, I saw the milky way that night.  Síneánn, I am your Pablo,  We are two white birds sailing  Over the foam of the sea.  Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge To my casement world.  Rain petal  Voice, lithe, alabaster woman,  I am lost in your Sargasso eyes, I hold your skin, my Selkie, Sweet Niamh, I have lived   One hundred years this week.  It is warm in the distance, In the country of the sun, We end at the house in Umbria, In the autumn, there is no word  Siberia, my light Rosaleen.  Now is harvest time.   At the great table we feast   With family and friends   And I am not alone with you.
Continue reading...
50
I am alone with you. A fire burns in the distance, It lights our faces As before in the empty cinema, Where we arrived, at some beginning, To watch a foreign film. Our eyes, In new utterance, murmuring subtitles, What words could never speak, The tips of seats, rows of air And the moony screen, A tableau of feathers and cloud, Two of us, alone, as one, Rapt in the spread of wings. Later, alone we dine in the Café Campagne. Our conversation Deafens a burgeoning crowd, Coffee was nectar, our words Were whispering petals. Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest Sorrow on your face, the green ocean In your eyes, I was cleansed By your tears. I have always Known you. Across the border on the far island, You stepped into the waters with me And when you disrobed you lit the stars And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin, Your slender legs, columns, tilting Toward heaven, in the age of Helen, Touched the water and the sky, I saw the milky way that night. Síneánn, I am your Pablo, We are two white birds sailing Over the foam of the sea. Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge To my casement world. Rain petal Voice, lithe, alabaster woman, I am lost in your Sargasso eyes, I hold your skin, my Selkie, Sweet Niamh, I have lived One hundred years this week. It is warm in the distance, In the country of the sun, We end at the house in Umbria, In the autumn, there is no word Siberia, my light Rosaleen. Now is harvest time. At the great table we feast With family and friends And I am not alone with you.
0
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Shineane ( Síneánn )
I am alone with you. A fire burns in the distance, It lights our faces As before in the empty cinema, Where we arrived, at some beginning, To watch a foreign film. Our eyes, In new utterance, murmuring subtitles, What words could never speak, The tips of seats, rows of air And the moony screen, A tableau of feathers and cloud, Two of us, alone, as one, Rapt in the spread of wings. Later, alone we dine in the Café Campagne. Our conversation Deafens a burgeoning crowd, Coffee was nectar, our words Were whispering petals. Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest Sorrow on your face, the green ocean In your eyes, I was cleansed By your tears. I have always Known you. Across the border on the far island, You stepped into the waters with me And when you disrobed you lit the stars And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin, Your slender legs, columns, tilting Toward heaven, in the age of Helen, Touched the water and the sky, I saw the milky way that night. Síneánn, I am your Pablo, We are two white birds sailing Over the foam of the sea. Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge To my casement world. Rain petal Voice, lithe, alabaster woman, I am lost in your Sargasso eyes, I hold your skin, my Selkie, Sweet Niamh, I have lived One hundred years this week. It is warm in the distance, In the country of the sun, We end at the house in Umbria, In the autumn, there is no word Siberia, my light Rosaleen. Now is harvest time. At the great table we feast With family and friends And I am not alone with you.
Continue reading...
50
I am alone with you. A fire burns in the distance, It lights our faces As before in the empty cinema, Where we arrived, at some beginning, To watch a foreign film. Our eyes, In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,   What words could never speak, The tips of seats, rows of air And the moony screen, A tableau of feathers and cloud, Two of us, alone, as one, Rapt in the spread of wings. Later, alone we dine in the Café   Campagne. Our conversation   Deafens a burgeoning crowd, Coffee was nectar, our words   Were whispering petals. Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest   Sorrow on your face, the green ocean In your eyes, I was cleansed   By your tears.  I have always Known you. Across the border on the far island, You stepped into the waters with me And when you disrobed you lit the stars And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin, Your slender legs, columns, tilting Toward heaven, in the age of Helen, Touched the water and the sky, I saw the milky way that night. Síneánn, I am your Pablo, We are two white birds sailing Over the foam of the sea. Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge To my casement world.  Rain petal Voice, lithe, alabaster woman, I am lost in your Sargasso eyes, I hold your skin, my Selkie, Sweet Niamh, I have lived   One hundred years this week. It is warm in the distance, In the country of the sun, We end at the house in Umbria, In the autumn, there is no word Siberia, my light Rosaleen. Now is harvest time.   At the great table we feast   With family and friends   And I am not alone with you.
0
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 4:00 PM UTC
Shineane ( Síneánn )
I am alone with you. A fire burns in the distance, It lights our faces As before in the empty cinema, Where we arrived, at some beginning, To watch a foreign film. Our eyes, In new utterance, murmuring subtitles,   What words could never speak, The tips of seats, rows of air And the moony screen, A tableau of feathers and cloud, Two of us, alone, as one, Rapt in the spread of wings. Later, alone we dine in the Café   Campagne. Our conversation   Deafens a burgeoning crowd, Coffee was nectar, our words   Were whispering petals. Dearest Blodeuwedd, I saw the sweetest   Sorrow on your face, the green ocean In your eyes, I was cleansed   By your tears.  I have always Known you. Across the border on the far island, You stepped into the waters with me And when you disrobed you lit the stars And the stars and my eyes kissed your skin, Your slender legs, columns, tilting Toward heaven, in the age of Helen, Touched the water and the sky, I saw the milky way that night. Síneánn, I am your Pablo, We are two white birds sailing Over the foam of the sea. Solvent to my stone, you are the hinge To my casement world.  Rain petal Voice, lithe, alabaster woman, I am lost in your Sargasso eyes, I hold your skin, my Selkie, Sweet Niamh, I have lived   One hundred years this week. It is warm in the distance, In the country of the sun, We end at the house in Umbria, In the autumn, there is no word Siberia, my light Rosaleen. Now is harvest time.   At the great table we feast   With family and friends   And I am not alone with you.
Continue reading...
50
I breathe in the fumes Intoxicated states of pure bliss In the form of headaches I feel quietly numb. Huffing away the days To forget what's going wrong In my solvent haze I remember you have gone. I breathe in the fumes I medicate myself with bleach These tendencies last weeks I fear it may be my last breath it takes.
0
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Hazy Days
you rise and fall like a symphony (My silk screen diaphanous breeze) I swim through your History, (the coral reef of vivid crazy textured nonsense love) saturated by the light refracted into your marine metropolis I coalesce into your voice (melted butter creamed currant pastry) and unfurl evenly. (your solvent arms propel my luck to fill every container of your buoyant sounds) you dance on my sidewalks like Charlie Brown’s gang (bobbing caricatured spreading smiley joke random) you take my crinkling brow and soften its creases like newly pugged clay Be my crutch, my original thought, my epiphany, (reshaping nuance unforeseen renew reold aspiration), my false laugh (when I get hurt and love you too much to show it) my recorded comfort weaving precious merriment around my every gesture
0
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
My Silk Screen Diaphanous Breeze
Rinse Repeat A simple man, trapped by society, Raised to feel indebted to his family His fantasy is printed and framed Above the job's lobby. A beautiful Scene of the mountains in Nagasaki. The clear air clears the clouds Of the the solvent factory So he sits and stares Ever unsure of his trajectory. Rinse Repeat The quality of his life is priced At $4.50. If he can't get his fix Of burritos and churro sticks, His world turns to bricks. His grip slips. The slight weight shift on his hips Strips his exuberant demeanor Like a lunar eclipse. Rinse Repeat When he tries to adlib the script, Life and love kicks him in the intelligence. His happiness doesn't take precedence Over the dead presidents he needs To keep his residence. It's evident In his directionless aggressiveness, He feels irrelevant to his existence. So, he slows the pistons of his brilliance. Rinse Repeat His silence has made him forget his presence He's become convinced that washing metal prints Isn't against his will. That the fulfill- Ment of another's vision is the pill To his sickness. Like the use of litmus Will heal his mental limpness Between 9 and 5. The only thoughts He completes are rinse and repeat
0
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
Eluant
whisper subtle echo ramble day dream riddle moment serene weave, appease storm relieve ; inside, raged unfocused sage unspoken bribe heart weeping broken defeated horizon seated dreamless bequeathed misty sea. Lies dormant aeon cradle solvent wakeful watcher Within.
0
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 9:22 AM UTC
trance
let me forget you. take me to the drowned forest where water gurgles from descicated root-lungs, preserving limpness in form. where I can feel at home dangling, the shadowed bats swerve in overcast light. here, I am caught pretending that the ground rushes towards me, and peace is in my lungs.
0
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 10:21 PM UTC
Solvent