Assurance Of My Being
In my quaint abode kilometers from infinity,
I abide my mortality mongering tomes,
The words of composers who trekked before me,
As I jest in mime with their spirituality.
I think not I am a fool.
My nightly swills from crevices I ascend,
Dust and sprinkles my sand depends.
The hourglass of my mentality rising,
Giving my confessions of condolence.
On the fringes of the bog, spirits wafting.
Upon evidence of the dusk I spoon my prose,
On spun parchment of my dark ascension.
Creations of my quest wandering mother earth,
Trolls I conversed from bridge behind I burned.
I keep my sanity about me.
Traipsing before me on my journey in scribing,
Mapping paths of forks in road, I sew stanzas.
With my quill dipping into the ink of my soul,
No reservation about the assurance of my being.
The Sandman Sweeper of Aberdeen.
As you lay yourself down to speak your psalms,
I scribe dreams within your keep-boudoir
Of sensualities and misbehaving's dancing.
The arabesque of nocturnal fornications.
In shadows I caress you.
My kilt with the family crest, I dress of my profess,
Bearing intoxications of sensual beings I lust.
As my hands playfully upon your amble breasts,
Lips of my flirtation suckle your chest.
In fruition anointing you my sweet.
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