"taster" poems
Ladies of the Net… A warning to male adolescents everywhere…
“Hi Honey….I just got matched with your profile”… At least that’s what I think it said.
Brilliant I thought because I’m available and life round here is, well…it’s dead
“I’m looking for an experienced guy who’s good in bed… been round the block, but not the clock…
One with plenty of experience and a huge…err…appetite…
for hooking up instead of these inexperienced boys…
They’re all excitable, probably all over too quick…
need someone with poise reserve and a twelve inch errr… Libido?… ego?
Click my pics kiddo and let’s get it on… you Stud!… Well I would!
****** hell! I’m overwhelmed but let’s not peak too soon…
There’s loads of stuff coming in as Spam that would probably make us all swoon.
So check it out…without fail, “eeeh!” They’re all there - these ladies of the net - they crop up daily -
Sheila Blige… Tanya Hide… Mandy May, Bette Sheedus, Lovinia ****
I’m not sure if these are their real names... But - Phew -
with things like this going on round here we could all get *******
She says she’s just round the corner, you know like Sompting, Steyning, LA (that must be Littlehampton)… Southwick…Little Haven Halt, Portslade.
We could meet in a lay-by and we’ll get laid… just an innocent little escapade.
It won’t be my fault if you miss this chance…
Just try it - I’ll handcuff you to the bed and lap dance.
Click on my pix, big boy, they all beckon.
Take a closer look at these sonny boy - now what do you reckon?
Well, you’d have to say they do look very alluring in the taster…
so why not just click...
to the next page… see the site… don’t waste-ya time…CLICK!
****** hell! The screen’s gone blank…
now I won’t even be able to have a ____
Knock, Knock, Knock!
"Kevin!!!?"..."Mum?" "Is that you?" "Yes Mum!… Everything’s OK!… I’m just turning out the light… G’night!"
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 5:45 AM UTC
Hope, whose weak Being ruin’d is,
Alike if it succeed, and if it miss;
Whom Good or Ill does equally confound,
And both the Horns of Fates Dilemma wound.
Vain shadow! which dost vanish quite,
Both at full Noon, and perfect Night!
The Stars have not a possibility
Of blessing Thee;
If things then from their End we happy call,
’Tis Hope is the most Hopeless thing of all.
Hope, thou bold Taster of Delight,
Who whilst thou shouldst but tast, devour’st it quite!
Thou bringst us an Estate, yet leav’st us Poor,
By clogging it with Legacies before!
The Joys which we entire should wed,
Come deflowr’d Virgins to our bed;
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty Custom’s paid to Thee.
For Joy, like Wine, kept close does better tast;
If it take air before, its spirits wast.
Hope, Fortunes cheating Lottery!
Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be;
Fond Archer, Hope, who tak’st thy aim so far,
That still or short, or wide thine arrows are!
Thin, empty Cloud, which th’eye deceives
With shapes that our own Fancy gives!
A Cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,
But must drop presently in tears!
When thy false beams o’re Reasons light prevail,
By Ignes fatui for North-Stars we sail.
Brother of Fear, more gaily clad!
The merr’ier Fool o’th’ two, yet quite as Mad:
Sire of Repentance, Child of fond Desire!
That blow’st the Chymicks, and the Lovers fire!
Leading them still insensibly’on
By the strange witchcraft of Anon!
By Thee the one does changing Nature through
Her endless Labyrinths pursue,
And th’ other chases Woman, whilst She goes
More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.
2.4k
quite certain, she who hates to be late
was late to our first date,
five years ago,
today.
she still shudders,
over that,
and now,
for other things.
like my poems.
rainy night, hair tangled,
coming from dancing
Argentine tango
with one of its living masters,
no taxi, impoverished excuse.
of that first date,
poem writ, no repeat,
but if you had told me
five years on, we would
wake up, our hair, wires
entangled, yet again...
I would have reply,
wrong boy, unchained,
wringing out bitter herbs of having,
done my 30 years
in the big house
of a failed marriage,
I am a wine taster,
a player.
told her straight out,
sweet certainty is not my objective,
she laughed, replying,
right back at ya, me too,
"same place, same way,"
our pact, healing, sealing,
with a fist bump.
five years ago.
we were certain.
now, I answer her questions
before she asks them,
now, she forbids me from
buying her any more trinkets.
but I am almost
quite certain
I didn't
hear her say that.
Quite Certain:
of so many things
that seemed important once,
by the wayside fallen.
that I will be writing
fabulous
incredible
virtual
extraordinary
little love poems,
to her, many years on,
even though
no new words I will own.
but quite certain,
will be still reminding her,
she came late to our first date,
and She will still and
always be falling in love with this poet.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:39 AM UTC
There will always be an Autumn spat
where the cat foils the dormouse
and the Annual taster chocolate box
arrives as nonchalant
as the mysterious sender.
Sometimes I wish we were boxing hares
to really celebrate an outlet for renewed anger.
Munching on my bagels, i feel a pang of Hypocrisy.
I run fickle, planning out the chequered
season.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
Have you ever had the urge to
**** someone. Perhaps that awkward ex-wife or the bullying supervisor
or maybe you just want to speed up a long awaited inheritance. If you
have any of the before mentioned reasons or one of many more, then this
book is for you. Some of the things you will read may sound a bit on the
obvious side but this publication is designed at the total beginner so
please work with us on this.
Chapter one.... Who to **** and how to Prepare.
Chapter two.... Choosing a method that is right for you.
Chapter three... Tools needed for the job and how to acquire them.
Chapter four.... How to build a great and believable aliby.
Chapter five.... Building a portfolio: for those who would like to make the step up to mass ******
Through
these and many other brilliantly described chapters you will get in
depth and easy to understand instructions. All from a varied range of
killers from all over the globe. Here is a little taster as to what you
can expect.
After you have chosen your first victim the first
thing you will need to do is develop a pattern. You will need to watch
them for this but please do note that you will need to consider some
things.
1. You do not want to advertise the fact that you
are stalking your potential candidate, so keeping at a safe distance is
to be advised. Do not be obvious in your choice of dress and always mark
any area with CCTV, not forgetting that a lot of stores these days have
these.
2. The location is important, you need to be somewhere
where you will not be interrupted, you don't want Joe public stepping in
and ruining your first project.
3. When you have completed
your first ****** these tips will instruct you on the practical side of:
Dismemberring, Disposal and Concealing the body.
4. Making the perfect escape from the scene.
Don't delay get your copy now, only $5.99
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Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Overpowering urges self destruction
numbness c ra cks and reseals
deep
trenches
cut out
in the shape of your name
The feeling's queasy
somersault through my
twisted veins
blind rage encapsulated by a sad
blackened
frame
Bruises and scars fade
but the coursing
pain will
forever remain
a dark
heavy trotting
reign
Horse hooves crater my heart
collision beat
of a marching bands feet
my heart
my heart
is screaming in the dark
the shadow slightly falls
my heart
my heart
Inject your unknowing poison
I feel the sting
as it rips fire to my insides
your hands leave chemical burns
as you squeeze my lungs
I fall to my knees
weakness writhes in numb defeat
pull the tide
hold it in my hands
sending it crashing
to wash over you again
That's when I first tasted the burn of this world
the bitter taster of disappointment
the stabbing of my heart
the waterfalls of sorrow
My eyes have died
their light no longer lives
I shrivel and crumble
with a slow
dull
ache
I do not scream out
destroy my sand castles
burn my bridges
knock my buildings down
dynamite love
dynamite love
I wander with a brain blown to bits
I scavenge every
scrap
of m u t ilated so-called-love
I am dynamite
you are matches
all that stood between us
was a wick of string
and time.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
freckled cheeks / soft decibels
dress wearing
wine taster
dreamcatching
manhunter
an attraction
to green and yellow
an aversion to blue
an imprint of her muted form
under a name that hides her
she often lies there
in a shimmer
a bit of a sleeping beauty
in the pleasing shape
of Wisconsin / Illinois
whose charms
are revealed
like arcane secrets
only to those
with patience,
persistence,
and a lack of proximity
to heavy machinery
Oct 25, 2022
Oct 25, 2022 at 1:32 PM UTC
Lyden af kommunikation, hører jeg
en hvisken og taster der trykkes ned
Mit blik fanger et træt ansigt
To, tre, femten
Jeg sider på en stol
Jeg rækker en finger op
Men den bliver ikke set i skoven af hænder
Et host høres i det fjerne
Et grin sendes igennem lokalet
To, tre, femten
Hendes tyssen lukker stilheden ind
Jeg vender hovedet og kigger op
En forsvinder ind i et andet univers
To, tre, femten
Jeg forsvinder
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC
To live well and to die well is the same task.
Epicurus
the song of the old rusty swing
like a frozen pane
(somewhere in a passing memory)
not knowing if there can be
such thing as genuine trust,
you wait for transparent nights
amid angst,
the turmoil of words, rushing gestures,
tired patterns
suffocating all
clairvoyance
you wake up from the lethargy of dreams
to the cruelty of life devoid
of connection
a door got jammed
your parents and their distant lives
-their past is your future-
carrying their never ending childhood
like a message in a bottle
the contraction of days bears you the same
the taste of death is just a habit now
no safeguard
you whisper your dreams to the ragged baby doll -
“Bebe” is here for you
You’re the pain taster
forcing dangerous juxtapositions
or the silent screaming melodies
abundant in misattunement
while mother flashes her cracked smile
on empty days
it might have been better to swallow
her thoughts
while father has a croaked ambition
never to rest
translating his will of power
the promise of tomorrow
left you unscathed
slipping out of time
needs practice,
a neat forehead,
to bear in mind that
light holds on to uncertainty
every time you fall
last mile home is the hardest
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 2:06 PM UTC
Here's where the line goes
for the show, maybe
Although I'm fairly sure it is
and I know that I'm first
Here's where the worlds collide
and the lies in their songs unfold
Forest of feast and tactility
Do I love you and need you?
Well, false to both, though
I admit you're my favorite
A veil of secrets
keeping you bleak and
numb, vacuous, and dumb
Are you in deep with the rhythm or open and bald
of your original skin and placement?
A different life, or would you say paradigm?
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
I don't take risks, I can't
I only have enough, for today
I know what losing costs,
Coins rolling away, no moss
a gathering, this or any way.
I walk at the fringe and look in
I see in the reflection, of the mirror,
my weakness, my resolve has stress-
fractures, my life a poorly played chess
match, if only, my head were clearer.
I need fresh air, let me out, of this box
so much refuse to trip on with shoes,
feet not mine that I hide with black socks,
the only hazard is me, you best take stock
and remember don't regret what you choose.
Pass me a glass
with a splash
of red, dry plum
fruit with peppered
notes, my nose so
tainted, I would
not be a taster
but a waster of
delights, ...
well maybe not,
of all delights.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
Folks gather around
Theres a new sheriff in town
Me the one and only
Yosef coming explosives
As land mines keep eyes on one time
Time to shine like im glo mo
Blastin' guns at the temple's
Of the po pos
It dont matter as long as
I see the blood shatter
Make ya dreams shatter
When im on the mic i taster
The beat
Givin' total disaster
Im an F-5 tornado
Rippin' up **** everything is a target
The bars get
More ruthless
Knockin' out ya dentures
Leave ya toothless
Now ya talkin with a lisp
I burn through souls
Like an eclispe
Its total darkness
Make way for the king of the jungle
Born to rumble
So you critics can talk loud
But all i hear is mumbles
They crumbles
Like cookies at best they just rookie
Rest in peace to tookie
I crip walk and blood walk
Cuz we all one blood no crud in my eye
Cuz i never cry
Or laid down got many in a frown
Blink to fast and there will
Be a pistol to crown
Now let me see you smile fools
Talkin' loud but cant talk
With death in yo face
After the paper chase
Naw forget it i *******
Out the best and still couldnt get admitted
To a studio **** the rhymes and the fore play though
Im tryna reach your conscious so
But most stuck on nonsense
Day dreamin' i got the triple beam and
My guns be tag teamin'
Cuz they dont bust solo
So when ya see me holla bolo
So i can break into a cover
No other
Can lay it down quite like me
Im the really only emcee
Left this is my life and death
And if you got beef
Come with it come get it
But it will go stale
Got ya confined in my cell
Therapy
You cant **** with me
Im ghost
Cuz you know ya cant see me
Biaaaaasastch
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
I'm the erasure
frequent free sample taster
Eat a chicken dinner
found you in the bathroom face up,
They find me
holed up inside for the winter
like the termites in the wall,
My by-product is these splinters
Teenage mutant ninja turtles
throw another hurdle at me
I'll leave your jaw closed like a handful of bad taffy
Don't laugh at me,
I'm grapplin' this logic like a last dollar in my wallet,
I bought a ticket to hell,
but before I got there,
I lost it.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 3:36 PM UTC
Somber at ease flip these Nasty Bumps
Pock your attempt to the Artist's Sphere invade
Enriched you are; Would circle-fold your lumps
Ask for abstinence and friendships evade
Power to you, transpose another Elf
Make renaissance to your just-hidden craft
Which mentioned, at three-digits-four by self
Enhance her Feelings more suited to draft
Spice, the Lady's palette. Just like the Man
Exploit his gutted weakness satisfy
You know your parts; Lay ingredients you can
More of your Flair and less of salsify.
To know one's Zest, the Taster Bud's enrump
An Open Womb; Or bid each other up.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 2:17 AM UTC
I'm happy to have a fulfilling job
The only time I'm not happy
Is when I consider how so many
Have unfulfilling jobs to
Support my fulfilling job
Like for instance
There's the guy who shines my shoes twice a day
That's because I have to kick things
And I need good-looking shoes for that
He shines my shoes with a smile
On his face or somewhere on his body
But I can't believe he finds his job as fulfilling as I find my job
When I get to kick something
There's also the guy who looks after my health
At first he was just my taster
Making sure no one poisons me
But then his duties were extended
Up to including reading
The Possible Side Effects
Of all my medications
And there he saw it one day:
And said
“It says here that one possible side effect of this medicine is the delusion that you have a fulfilling job when you don't have such a fulfilling job.”
And then it all went ****
And I found myself back to working an unfulfilling job
Now I just hope I can remember how to do it
Because a long line of angry customers is forming somewhere in relation to where I am positioned now
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
You know there's always that one person - who no matter how hard you try,
Not to, can so easily bring tears to your eye.
That same person who normally dries your tears and helps confront your fears, now how it hurts to know their arrow sears
Right through your heart
Though you're faulty from the very start.
Conscience isn't the one to blame,
Digging up the past, and building the shame.
But questioning thin ice, knowing the answer,
Intimidating whilst fully aware...like the effect of a cancer.
Rage and fury building up inside,
Exploding, stating with nothing to hide.
The incentive, the issue, the vibe given off,
Having my breath caught in throat with a splutter and cough.
The mere poison - attacking my brain, who knew simple words could cause so much pain?
However, they can't be retrieved from where they've been lain.
The message, so clearly set in stone,
Made me instantly press delete on the phone.
So I'm a liar, user, waster
It's gone way too far from a taster.
And now I've been hated, resented and cast aside,
You're no longer there for me in which to confide,
Now you have chosen Your side....just because I might've lied.
23:41 11/4/13
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
I got it right ,I knew the score
no sugar to eat,no choccy galore
treacle **** gone vamouss,cream cake up the wall
but my health I do keep
I now know the score
Tis strange to be told ..your getting so old
to be given a chance is fine ..let us dance
I call myself lucky ,it could be much worse
i walk and play football and loose bad at golf
I wake up to see ..my son smile back at me
so get a big grip you soft sad old ***
Feb 11, 2011
Feb 11, 2011 at 6:41 AM UTC
(WARNING: some of you may not find this to your taste)
SONG of the ROYAL FOOD-TASTER
It’s always feast day
at the Court of King Eatmore
and Queen Yumyum
Bring it on, dish after dish -
anything that’s Meat, we’ll eat
When I arrived at Court
from my far-off village
I was but skin and bones
Now as Trusted Royal Taster
I am as big as Her Majesty’s –
Burp! – ****
SONG of the ROYAL JESTER
Bring it on
anything that moves
We’ll spike it through
for the spit -
with the spike through the mouth
and coming out the other end
For what is man and woman
King and Queen
but a mouth open
and a releasing rear?
CHORUS
Oh let us eat, eat, eat
drink and sate and ingratiate
We love
anything that crawls or creeps
or flies or moves
We can crunch and munch and digest
and add to our folds and waves -
for the World-sized King he said:
*“Bring it IN! Something local,
anything Exotic! Bring it IN!”*
And the Immense Queen she screamed:
*“Cream! Cream! Cream! More Cream
and Oil on my Pig’s Head!”*
SONG of the ROYAL JESTER
Ah, for what else did Nature fashion
life to be? – one way in and one way out
and lots to retain
Humanity is but a mouth and an ****
connected well in an ever-emptying barrel
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
A good walking partner.
A good secret keeper.
A good food taster.
A good kiss giver.
A good listener.
A good cleaner.
A good friend.
A good dog.
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 4:05 PM UTC
Folks gather around
Theres a new sheriff in town
Me the one and only
Yosef coming explosives
As land mines keep eyes on one time
Time to shine like im glo mo
Blastin' guns at the temple's
Of the po pos
It dont matter as long as
I see the blood shatter
Make ya dreams shatter
When im on the mic i taster
The beat
Givin' total disaster
Im an F-5 tornado
Rippin' up **** everything is a target
The bars get
More ruthless
Knockin' out ya dentures
Leave ya toothless
Now ya talkin with a lisp
I burn through souls
Like an eclispe
Its total darkness
Make way for the king of the jungle
Born to rumble
So you critics can talk loud
But all i hear is mumbles
They crumbles
Like cookies at best they just rookie
Rest in peace to tookie
I crip walk and blood walk
Cuz we all one blood no crud in my eye
Cuz i never cry
Or laid down got many in a frown
Blink to fast and there will
Be a pistol to crown
Now let me see you smile fools
Talkin' loud but cant talk
With death in yo face
After the paper chase
Naw forget it i *******
Out the best and still couldnt get admitted
To a studio **** the rhymes and the fore play though
Im tryna reach your conscious so
But most stuck on nonsense
Day dreamin' i got the triple beam and
My guns be tag teamin'
Cuz they dont bust solo
So when ya see me holla bolo
So i can break into a cover
No other
Can lay it down quite like me
Im the really only emcee
Left this is my life and death
And if you got beef
Come with it come get it
But it will go stale
Got ya confined in my cell
Therapy
You cant **** with me
Im ghost
Cuz you know ya cant see me
Biaaaaasastch
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
She sits.
Wondering how to reach the sky.
A fix of magic tricks.
To make her fly.
She'll cry for it.
Lie for it.
Maybe even die for it.
She sighs for it.
You can see it in her saucer eyes.
She's flying at last.
What happened yesterday's only the past.
Sky scraping.
Risk taking.
Meat hooks.
***** looks.
Bouncing on pavements with forbidden ones.
Daughters together and unholy sons.
Sniffing a thin line.
A hit, at a wild time.
It caught her badly.
Cut to ribbons.
Bites with sickness.
Bleeding out silently.
Mellow sounds of Stevie Nicks.
Beat through her brain, like kettle drums.
Living life supporting bums.
The gorgeous dolly.
Off her trolley.
Biscuit crumbs.
Missing mums.
Snatching supreme highs.
At the back of her chemical eyes.
Defiantly deviant.
For the life she once had retreated inside.
Her very soul defeated.
By the touch of the dealer man.
She beaten inside and out.
Uppers and downers.
Picks up out of townies.
And she's a singer.
Her song is sung for punters.
A taster.
A sample of what they're gonna get.
She looks at her discarded needles.
Set of works that work.
Another ugly fella.
Just another ****
The working girl she goes berserk.
Ask her, she'll tell ya.
She's just gotta work.
Jupiter's rising.
Ecstatic moon.
Needs another hit now, it's hellish too soon
Slaps on her heels.
Finds appalling man, somehow appealing.
She plays for the pimple who stranded her there.
She no longer feels.
Life ebbing out of her.
Sold her soul for rock 'n' roll.
Questions the beautiful place that she lingers in.
Not beautiful.
Abysmal.
Dismal.
No choice.
Her song always the same, has little choice.
The singer wants her song to stop, but just can't find her voice.
Drugs sicken her.
Money all spent.
Stand up.
Be counted.
****** repent.
You bet ya, she can't.
Stuck in a hole, with a drug ridden soul.
Hunting for dragons, in the back of their wagons.
A ***** for old rope, a little more dope.
(c) Livvi
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 11:08 AM UTC
to avoid the pitfall of prospective homelessness
which near future prospect
induces existential angst i confess.
Today (end of rope rhyme rote
approximately deux orbitz round the sun),
i wanted ta die and bid god riddance grandly
going gamesomely gra grave,
de deum, and cymbal crash
to Bing mulct emotionally, physically and spiritually -
all the grinding hardships would be gone in a flash
how tempting to seek ot a solution sans hemlock
or other deadly potion,
whereby toothless mouth need not gnash
boot simply swallow and drink from the goblet of
mortal freedoms renting psych *** under
with purposelessness mine hash
tag, which bout with suicide
while n the edge of thirteen -
Anorexia nervosa defeated -
then as now experience
10,000 banshee maniacs whip lash
lacerating, flagellating,
and repeatedly rousing thoughts
shin to circle back to why death be not proud
when life on par with a mash
up of ennui, futile gobbledygook housing incubus
analogous luft waffe bombardiers quash
the joie de vivre per je ne sais quois spritely spring
in step happy jollity,
and levity attempt to make light
of psychological me's mental illness rash
whence thru the (then) lvii roam min years
as chief garbage taster of trash
hurled my way gnome matter
the gremlins dwelt within the Wabash
distance to inflict din er of dissonance
targeted this mortal for'er abash
as soon as he got expelled
from the womb, his reddened ears did bash
from sonic screaming boom causing astir the nurses
into the maternity ward
of me late mum sped like dash
her, and fast as a comet Prancer doth emulate
a con ***** dancer, cuz ova this rude half
re: that came a boot
from genetic chromosomal dna wash.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 3:56 AM UTC
Time waster,
Wine taster.
Covert lover,
Losing cover.
Rude creator,
Crude spectator.
Secret liar,
Limping sigher.
Companion seeker,
Slowly cheaper.
You and I are,
Rain and paper.
Sep 22, 2023
Sep 22, 2023 at 7:51 PM UTC
life is fickle,
life is difficult.
life is sweet and moody,
life is dark and broody.
we question things and people,
from the small child to the old and feeble.
so many questions that we still cant grasp,
from the real boring to the shocking truths that makes us gasp.
sometimes we are the ones who create these questions,
sometimes its another person.
life is already difficult as it is,
everyone knows this.
yet its our job as human beings to help the others out,
and not make them scream and shout.
however we feast on sadness and enjoy the hot taster of anger,
we yearn for thrills and danger.
we have monsters in the world waiting for us,
we can even find those monsters within us.
everyone yearns for release, a way out of life and its horrors,
we even get pushed to our breaking points and borders.
yet if we let those monsters win,
whats the point of living?
there will always be monsters,
but if we let them win, will we become a lost soul or a monster?
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
Long ago a king of France
-I don't remember his name -
when asked was it possible
to love two women
at the same time,
replied that he loved,
equally but in a different way,
burgundy and beaujolais,
and if he could love
two different wines
how could he not love
two different women?
For me, an inexperienced wine-taster,
I could not tell the difference,
but give me elderflower champagne
fermented from sugar, lemon and hand-picked blossom,
fresh, golden and sparkling,
or home-infused sloe gin,
rich, fruity, purple and mature,
and I would say I love them both,
equally but in a different way.
Yes, but does this mean I could love
two women at the same time?
Ah, that is a question
that I must decline to answer.
You see, I might tend
to incriminate myself.
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 12:55 AM UTC