User Review( votes)
written by: Sanjeev Sethi
Crapulence to carceral settings. Mercaptans
of a certain kind torpefy me: is it the stench
or my power to smell? Stot is for some. Fossettes
remain in the offing. Far and away I have another
dirl. When I’m in it to glom I don’t like myself.
I’m good as a giver. I know not, how it happened
which cistron did what: but I am me.