poems by whitman sampler
Oh chocolate! My chocolate! I fear for my waistline some.
The crème-filled weathered every bite, at that's left is one.
The end is near! The box is clear! The people all are sobbing.
While follow thighs the steady meal, blood vessels grim and wearing.
But O gut! Gut! Gut!
The cordials drops of red.
Now on the floor, my box does lie.
$3.99 clerk had said.
Xen is published by Cave Drawing Ink and syndicated throughout the internet.
