"tartar" poems
May I present a challenge?
Imagine if you will
You have created a flying explosive device
And it needs a name that will thrill.
A name, a good name, which name?
Well, none of those below.
Some twisted suits have already used them.
**** EVEN Tacit Rainbow.
What really goes through their minds?
As they sit and discuss the name
Of their creation that's destined to ****
Butcher, destroy and maim.
Just try if you can
To read the whole of this edited list
Imagine how many have exploded of each
With out angrily clenching your fist
Little John
Honest John
Hellfire
Matador
HARM
Terrier
Nike-Ajax
Corporal
Sea Sparrow
Redstone
Bullpup
Mace
Nike-Hercules
Regulus II
Atlas
Thor
Lacrosse
Jupiter
Quail
Hawk
Tartar
Falcon
Polaris
Hound Dog
Pershing
Entac
Firebee
Shelduck
Jayhawk
Cardinal
Firefly
Petrel
Redhead/Roadrunner
Redeye
Mauler
Skybolt
Nike Zeus/Spartan
Condor
Phoenix
Typhon MR
Falconer
Overseer
Taurus
Kingfisher
Cardinal
Walleye
Hornet
Maverick
Big Q
Minuteman
Blue Eye
Viper
Firebolt
Bulldog
Harpoon
Focus
Perseus
Firefly
Stinger
Compass Dwell
B-Gull
Agile
Seekbat
Delta Dagger
Thunderbolt[7]
Patriot
Aquila
Teleplane
Streaker
Tomahawk
Firebrand
Roland
Peacekeeper
Penguin
Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner
Sidearm
Skipper
Wasp
Sea Lance
Ripper[7]
Trident II
Midgetman
Tacit Rainbow
Pave Cricket
Have Nap
Peregrine
Exdrone
Javelin
Pointer
Hunter
Coyote
Skeeter
Outlaw
Wow, you're still reading
And you've managed not to throw up.
Just wondering how many innocent victims
Of a tax funded device called Bullpup.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
I send my voice into your mouth
You return the compliment
I am the Count of Cannizzaro
You are Her Royal Highness the Princess Augusta
I am the thaumaturgic chain
You hold the opera glass and cards
You become extemporaneous song
I am your tutor
You are my invisible seed
I am Timour the Tartar
You are my curious trick
I your enchanted caddy
I am your confounding doll
You my confounded dummy.
4.3k
Gusto ko ring
maranasang makulong
para naman
magka-thrill
kahit kaunti
ang buhay kong
napaka-boring.
Pero gusto kong
makulong
nang walang
ginagawang
anumang
krimen.
At a loob ng kulungan
ay pabahuan
ng hininga,
kili-kili,
puwet
at singit;
paramihan
ng libag sa leeg,
tinga sa gilagid,
kalyo sa labi,
at tartar sa ngipin.
Doon na rin
masusubok
ang aking
pagiging
best actor
sa pagkukunwaring
makadiyos ako
sa pagdadala ko
ng banal na libro
sa lahat ng oras,
minu-minuto
upang parolya
ay aking matamo
at kinabukasan
ay laya na ako.
Hustisya
ay kaydaling
laruin,
sistema
ay kaydaling
butasin,
buong kuwento
ng aking tula
ay uulit-ulitin.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC
Inspired by The Mars Volta
Encased in, tubular, too much too fast, written again with music in the background!
Screams now or be they babies? Here it's more with talking, psychedelic naturally!
Complete the creativity contract stingy stars stealin' popcorn RIPS, and I can feel it coming to me. Groaning, rhyming with the rather outer despite the order AND GO! Build up, build up who wants a build up? Pause.
Groove to me my Ukraine tartar! Make no sense, make it so hard you can't understand where it or was she GOING, go, go, go! Membrane skin saturate thy kin with separating spin so I can't fuckin' breathe! Correct my sins or be you scared to talk to pins though they your friends. The tack is in to lift paper from she and she can't see. Are you a man or a mouse or anthropomorphic spouse of any of these fleeing an-i-mals?! I find in the mirror myself and beer to drown the pain or discomforting disdain I can't quite get it right anymore therefore goodbye all truly universally bleeding. I say goodbye to my past and won't come to grip with it! GRIP your children's ears but it is you who doesn't want to hear. You cover their eyes because of the size of daybreak rise! Rise to the occasional borderline street sign between
Inspired by Tool
I will explode into the stars, become all of them, but all in sparkle of another's eye
I can't rip this mind any further, or else it'll break and snap and slow-mo crack
May, may, may, may you starve, breathe, sink, rise, steep, leap, creep into my parallel like a feeling
Demented in this way due to you, the closest I'll ever get
Five years, apparently not enough to forget
Five years, without you
Five years, and you still break into my dreams
Five years
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
When things were going great
we'd eat transcendental dinners,
we'd take livers
in rainbow saucers
and ladle them
in tartar sauce
until our mouths
were full of salt,
sometimes we'd go to Thai China
and make interstellar fighters
out of the wise guts
of
cream-colored Starships.
But the nights when we went
to Burger King were the greatest,
we'd have simple dinners:
99 cent burgers
and fries like elephant ears,
we'd sit in our booth
in the corner,
you farting ketchup
out of like
twenty packets
into a red **** pile,
and I farted
like
twenty farts
out of my ***
but I like
simple things;
they are natural
even if they don't sound
that way.
Feb 9, 2012
Feb 9, 2012 at 12:27 AM UTC
When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
...Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder
And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,
General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:
Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,
Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,
He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,
His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains
But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men
And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
...War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;
Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;
In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men --
And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-
Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain --
That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
...There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,
Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.
2.3k
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge ***** rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!
I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
In long reverberations reach our own.
On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer,
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman’s song,
And loud, amid the universal clamor,
O’er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
I hear the Florentine, who from his palace
Wheels out his battle-bell with dreadful din,
And Aztec priests upon their teocallis
Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent’s skin;
The tumult of each sacked and burning village;
The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns;
The soldiers’ revels in the midst of pillage;
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;
The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder
The diapason of the cannonade.
Is it, O man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,
Thou drownest Nature’s sweet and kindly voices,
And jarrest the celestial harmonies?
Were half the power, that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals or forts:
The warrior’s name would be a name abhorred!
And every nation, that should lift again
Its hand against a brother, on its forehead
Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain!
Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease;
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, “Peace!”
Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of War’s great ***** shakes the skies!
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.
1.9k
Carnival carvings seep into your tombstone.
And from the ceiling, we hanging, in red
and black striped pajamas watched you
get lowered.
The jesters
cartwheel in my laugh,
they travel and trial, tediously tar, and rat aches
in to my tartar.
I weep for the wayward west, that
(you never explicitly promised) we were to visit.
I've seemed to begun, helter-skelter a few;
steam trombones
There
are no masonry aemons.
Of ghouls gnaws only poetry,
awaiting our reunion, my dearest Laika-
forever deceased.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 8:16 PM UTC
In the sky of my mind
Echoed the winds of longing
I silenced the noise
And listened to sweet nostalgia
Nostalgia's song tasted like
Honey, tartar and rose petals
Smoke rose from each petal
Forming clouds in the sky of my mind
The winds of longing blew harsh
Each petrous note of nostalgia piercing the clouds
And hence came the downpour
Of suns that set too soon
And suns that never rose
Of moons that never were full
And stars with frozen winks
Of galaxies with uncharted maps
And of rainbows with colours gone rogue
But when all was done, and the downpour abated
The barren ground sparkled
With the suns and moons and stars
And galaxies and rainbows
Which once saddened the sky
And now adorned the ground
The winds settled to a merry tune of serenity
And the sky of my mind smiled at the beauty below.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:34 AM UTC
Soft skin
Caressed by rough hands
All my senses flurry
White beauty of mine
hidden behind dirt and grime
a creamy tartar of decadence
Undulating and writhing
a cosmic display of euphoria
as graceful as conception itself
I find the good in the bad
and the bad oh so good
Two tiny hands wrapped in mine
the egotistical tango
as we dance our life away
consumed by our self
The tide of emotion
washes away
my pride and envy gone
replaced with humility and love
and skin so soft
it's almost intangible.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 6:38 AM UTC
'Tis said, when Schiller's death drew nigh,
The wish possessed his mighty mind,
To wander forth wherever lie
The homes and haunts of human-kind.
Then strayed the poet, in his dreams,
By Rome and Egypt's ancient graves;
Went up the New World's forest streams,
Stood in the Hindoo's temple-caves;
Walked with the Pawnee, fierce and stark,
The sallow Tartar, midst his herds,
The peering Chinese, and the dark
False Malay uttering gentle words.
How could he rest? even then he trod
The threshold of the world unknown;
Already, from the seat of God,
A ray upon his garments shone;--
Shone and awoke the strong desire
For love and knowledge reached not here,
Till, freed by death, his soul of fire
Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere.
Then--who shall tell how deep, how bright
The abyss of glory opened round?
How thought and feeling flowed like light,
Through ranks of being without bound?
1.5k
I'm not a poet; only a poetfreak.
I know I won't be put in books
Or go down as a great like Poe.
But I don't care, because I don't need to impress
I only care about making an impact to you.
Yes, you! The one reading what I type.
You're all that matters to me when I write.
I don't refine my poems, I leave them raw
Which means I'm not great at all
Unless you like sushi or steak tartar
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
i am ******* dying
to be something other
than a ***** hiding from
her own shadow,
twisting herself up in
senseless wants
maybe if i tattoo my skin
or gauge my earlobes
or pierce my nose
or wear band t-shirts no one's heard of
or go to shows and head bang alone,
then, yes,
then, i will be unique,
oh ****
there's a tumblr for that,
actually, there are a thousand tumblrs for that,
moving on...
how about i try
wearing black and
hiding from the light,
pulling away until
i only come out at night,
speaking to no one
but the notebook i carry
everywhere with me,
ah, **** that's been done too
here, here, how about this,
i'll enter the mainstream,
get my degree,
even work a job from seven to three,
marry a **** bag
with no sense of life,
have some kids,
and pretend i take joy in being a wife,
and then, when i'm having
his colleagues over for dinner,
i'll lose it and **** them all
with a butcher knife
as i backflip over
our ten thousand dollar
dining room set
they'll oooh and aaah,
and somehow forget,
that i'm ending their mediocrity,
instead they'll think,
what yoga studio did she join?
her legs are so much more
defined than mine
and as they all lay bleeding out
over their
steak tartar,
i will smile and smooth my
perfect blonde hair,
and wait
to join the leagues
of the unforgettable
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:00 PM UTC
Today I wore
Ketchup and Mustard
Because I wanted to
Not everyone can do this
And get away with it
But I did it
Because I wanted to
Tomorrow is a new day
Maybe mayo or tartar
Just anything but barbecue
But it's not about my sauces
Or my meat for that matter
It's about my feelings
Bite me because im what you love
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 12:34 PM UTC
When I look up into the sky
I see miles and miles of open space
I dream that I can live on the moon
That I can fly on a shooting star
When I look into the grass
I see inches and inches of green
I dream that I'm so small
the blades of grass stand before me like towers
After I fall asleep in my bed
I dream.
Of worlds where I'm a pink dinosaur
Or of being a celebrity on planet Tartar
Whatever they say
Whatever they think
They cant stop me
from dreaming up my dreams
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 9:04 PM UTC
Some once called him a Grand Old Man,
Others called him a slime,
You couldn’t get a consensus that
Was even, all the time,
For some kow-towed to his money, while
Others fell by his sword,
His life was overall sunny, while
His victims quailed at his word.
He lorded it over his children,
He ruled their kids with ease,
A sullen look from beneath his brow
Would bring them to their knees,
His will was forever changing
As solicitors came and went,
One day he’d offer a mansion,
And another day, a tent.
When he finally died he was stony broke
And they wondered where it went,
He’d always been abstemious
But the money had been spent.
He left all their lives in ruins with
Their expectations gone,
A couple of ramshackle houses were
The only things they won.
There wasn’t the money to bury him
So they left him where he sat,
Up at the head of the table in
His black, beribboned hat,
He glared at them as he’d glared in life
One hand on the table-top,
Where he used to tap with his finger
As if it would never stop.
Tap-tap-tap on the table-top,
Tap-tap-tap it went,
His eyes bored into the back of your head
As if to say - Repent!
And people scurried, this way and that
To divine what the tartar meant,
The grim old man in his black top hat
Who ruled to their detriment.
They left him sat and they locked the door
Didn’t go back for a year,
Til the eldest, saying ‘let’s know for sure,’
Returned with a tinge of fear.
‘He might have stocks in his waistband there
Or shares hid under his shirt,
Or cash stuffed in his beribboned hat -
He treated us all like dirt!’
He ventured into the dining room
Where the grim old man still sat,
His eyes a-glare in the year long gloom
From under the brim of his hat.
But as the eldest approached him there
The finger began to tap,
A steady rap with a note of doom
That would curdle blood to sap.
So Toby dived to the tinder box
And he leapt up with the axe,
His face as pale as a ghostly tale
But determined to attack.
He raised the axe and he let it fall
Severed the finger there,
It skittered across the table top
As the old man fell from his chair.
The stocks were stuffed in the old man’s hat
The shares were stuffed in his sleeve,
And so much cash in his waistband that
They said, you wouldn’t believe.
But still he’s locked in that grey old house
For they found it wouldn’t stop,
That severed finger that skittered there
Still taps on the table-top!
David Lewis Paget
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
being Polish was never **** it was never a clue for
the sentencing of volleyball team effort... it was never ****
whatever it was... it was never going to be an Irish
bargain of gambling... it was just bad luck...
something akin to Lithuanian, something worth forgetting...
like Indians and the Bangladeshis... like Versailles and Belvederes palaces...
it was worth forgetting... which exemplified the love of
music in western Europe... and where music is
lacking there the poetic expression... well thank you Pink Floyd,
but let us forget Auden... we can all do enough with a sing-along...
but when it comes to canvases of involvement to track
the shoe-lace ties or the cravat tangle readied for a ballet...
well, aren't you the one to tell us that it was just
a calorie intake of veganism:
mark that as a turnip postage... and a
fried potato licked, while she gags on ageing for the
added repertoire of scandal in sandals flicked to represent lapping
tongues and butterfly flicking of what became
flapped toe-curls of synchronisation; and the dipping,
soda baking of a tartar sauerkraut.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
What I didn’t tell you that day is that I love you
Because I was afraid you would change towards me
Treat me differently and that I’d have to act differently
When all I know how to do around you is be with you
The way I am now and with the person you are
But right now I want you
So intensely that it affects my health
My blood pressure is higher
My mouth is drier and my breath is beginning to smell
Like tartar and decay and maybe it’s because
I feel I’m rotting inside
Like something is dying and withering in me
And I know it’s my strength
How I feel about you
The amount of me that I can devote
To you to see you are happy
The fuel for the words that deny your every self-defeating doubt
Tell you you’re marvelous and perfect at least all right
Please don’t go away
Run away or treat me differently
Just love me and say it every chance you get
Love me more
Add to it and build upon it
Give me permission to be
In love with you
Like I already am
Wanting you to be different
Without going away
Wanting you to be in love with me
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 12:36 AM UTC
They called you a dog
Its teeth were yellow
Rotting, cigarette and
Stink breath,
Gnarled skin around
The mouth
Laugh lines never existing
Only frowns fault.
Tar and wax and
Gunk, how else can
I say it-
- Your mouth, a treasure.
Riotous screaming
And bleak moans
Of let me go
I did, I held loosely
Canines with tartar
Can you imagine
The dentist?
He cried when he picked at
It rotted black now,
Gone beyond just
The absence of a
Smile forelorn,
Two surgeries and
Gauze and chunks
of gums, you
Wired yourself shut.
They yelled at you.
In the office, in
The school yard
Laughing, pointing
With a hand over your
Mouth you didn't
Bother to grin
Anymore, they did you in.
No operations could
Save that precious,
The innocence, you being
A victim.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 12:49 AM UTC
Tartar (the city beyond the conflict area) bombed by Armenia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bp4jh11uHUQ&feature=youtu.be
#PrayForTartar
#StopArmenianTerrorism
#StopArmenianOccupation
#JusticeforAzerbaijan
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 3:29 PM UTC
Hot dogs get chili
Burgers get mustard
Porterhouse gets steak sauce
At least the last I heard.
French fries don’t get vinegar
That’s totally absurd
French fries get ketchup
At least the last I heard.
Toilet paper rolls off the top
Toilet seats need to be up.
Tea is iced and in a glass
Coffee should be in a cup.
Tuna casserole is not for men,
We need meat and potatoes.
We only like marinara sauce
Instead of raw sliced tomatoes.
Salads are lettuce and dressing
Especially of the cheesy kind.
Eggplant is all plant and no egg
And tastes like watermelon rind.
Finger sandwiches are a waste
Especially those with watercress.
Cold borsht served in flat bowls
Is not much more than a mess.
Sushi is nothing else but
Some overdressed hunks of bait.
Pork bellies are pudgy bacon
And deserve a better fate.
Sweet breads are neither;
Sweet nor are they bread.
Steak tartar is just raw meat
And should be cooked instead.
Brunch is a truly silly word
One needs make up the mind.
Either have lunch or breakfast.
I don’t mean to be unkind.
We can be a confusing culture;
Combining things so badly.
Give me the basics, nothing more,
And I will go imbibe quite gladly.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
I cower before the ordinary
the extraordinary, the effete.
and the gorgeous. Cowering
is matter of fact
heart and tact.
I cower before the mighty
the Almighty
the mammal and the animal
cowerinng is a way of life
full of rife.
We all cower.
I cower in front of the altar
walk the ways of the Tartar
cowering is a way of life.
full of rife, full of rife.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 1:27 PM UTC
A robust, full bodied cup of coffee
The resounding zeros and dated euphemisms
The criminal and large and I sitting
He has something to say I tell him to spit it out
He says he knows I'm holding out on him and tells me to cough it up
I adhere to his demand and pull out my rucksack and empty it out on the shellacked table
Cream of tartar
Cumin
Cloves
Bay leaves
Clovers
Ginger
Mustard seeds
Anise
A plethora of extracts and Madagascar vanilla bean
I give in because this guy has a murderous track record nine miles long
While I have a lifelong loosing streak
I dare not try and petition him with defiant excuses and off the hook tones
He needed these things to prepare a meal for his dying father
He suffers from hangnails and trend followers
As his son follows a dark path that is a far cry from a path that will lead to a career
The criminal gathers the vials of herbs and spices with tears in his eyes and goes on his way
I sit and finish my coffee unfazed and understanding
To be continued...
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
Nemesis Tales(The Slaver)
------------------------
**Far to the East, a prowling Beast,
The Prow of the Nemesis Seeks a Feast,
a Tautened crew and a Hardened Master,
avert your eyes Shipmate-he's a Tartar!,
like summonin' a Genie,here he Strides,
The Nemesis Sails and the Harbinger Rides,
above the deeps of the ocean gloom,
where Leviathan sleeps,a Predator looms,
we cut the Line four watches past,
much merriment fore and aft of the mast!,
no Grating rigged, no rating flogged,
"aye not even you you drunken dog!"
avast now mate- just shut your gob,
from the Dragon's Cockpit issues Smog(pun:)
we've seen such Fog before recall?,
Mon Capitan, Le Diabole!**
*Prepare for squalls messmates of mine,
ill work ahead this side of the Line,
a foul Miasma disturbs me deep,
I toss and turn and spurn my sleep,
A thousand souls cried out to mine,
no fat Merchant, nor Ship of the Line,
could cast such ripples across the surf,
nay, a thousand times this curse is worse,
we beat to quarters no man waver!,
Two points off the Larboard bow- lies The Slaver!,
from every throat there came a Growl,
from those enslaved before a Howl!,
no Mercy Sir? cries one such Martyr,
Nor asked Nor given Shipmate said the Master,
we sink Merchants and live life hard,
and if we're caught we're strung from the Yard,
yet there ahead with the seal of a King,
lies a monster worse,let the chase begin!(Echo)*
**She's laden deep, and stinks of Death,
I'll know no sleep til she's sunk in the depths,
All sail Aloft, then run out the guns,
we assault from the East and the rays of the Sun
will blind their eyes until broadsides RIP!
the Lateen Sails from the mast of the ship,
then load with Grape, sweep the deck then board,
and free those souls chained down in the hold,
shackled down from head to toe,
in their filth rocked to and fro
in the Bilge with the avid rats to fight,
some die of plague,of fear of fright,
some just give in and slide to the night,
some founder through and become Wights(important for the next chapter!)
but not this time, its Free or Dead,
now we've work to do, and enough been said
are you with me Crew "AYE ONE AND ALL"
as the Nemesis sails let the Slaver Fall!**
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
we were making this by the campsite
the night before the battle of
grunwald ('groonvald'),
we were united, the tartars joined us
and brought the following recipe
for the fish we caught on the river:
preready mayonnaise,
gherkins with a bit of gherkin brine,
white vinegar and some capers...
we omitted the chives and parsley
because there were none, the day before
we slaughtered the teutons.
years later the same thing happened,
although in suburban enclosure,
and with perfectly running trains,
and all seashores tamed with foot,
and the aviation traffic,
the new adventurers had to embark
not with astronaut gear but
with their egos, crafting shipwrecks
and glaciers with their minds from
the most apparent mundanities
turned into sour spark tingles
of colours turned into tastes on the oyster's
nano tentacles in the saliva sea.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC