8 czerwca 2013
POETRY
The flesh was putting up a brave dialogue.
I was willing to play the game.
Stunned, shocked, pleasantly sore
basking in heat of silk throat,
I asked the needles to go ahead
and stitch the wounds without loss of blood.
Wasps were waiting to light the candles,
so that they can attack the pink skin.
The fruit bats were hanging upside down;
time for fellatio. A boundary was submerged
in deluge of anger. It was a white night
for an ice cream cone. God bless the queen.
Satish Verma
2 kwietnia 2026
sam53
2 kwietnia 2026
sam53
1 kwietnia 2026
wiesiek
1 kwietnia 2026
guccilittlepiggy
31 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
31 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
31 marca 2026
sam53
31 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
30 marca 2026
absynt
30 marca 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)