0-60A Poem by Lady Wolf
It rumbles, low, In the back of its throat. A purr. Content. Its handler grips the reins Adrenaline slowly spilling into his viens. He grows cold. Green! The beast is loosed Roaring, Skidding, Kicking up asphalt Biting Gone… © 2008 Lady Wolf |
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1 Review Added on April 22, 2008 Last Updated on April 22, 2008 |

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