Random poetry and the occasional drabble or dribble of other short random thought from the depths my somewhat bemused brain, or possibly Brian if the schizophrenic misspelt pseudo entity that lives up there is up to his old tricks... poems from the Tardis like halls of my head. No genre is safe...

Nightingale is human - or would be, had it not been for the manner of her creation. Genetically engineered and grown to adulthood in a lab, she was created, not born. Why? For the sole purpose of the entertainment of rich men as one of the many Inamoratas in the bordello business . Beautiful, elegant, a superb dancer and an even better singer, she is the perfect lover for any man. Perfect, that is, except for her personality - the one thing you can't engineer.