On eroticism I was suckled,
In the valley of the tits.
Lactation finely tuned me,
In seeking out sensuality.
Together with my journal,
I took leave of my mother home.
Setting foot in Budapest,
I thrived on fornication.
It was there in nightly swills
And brothels of stoned cold women,
I regained the quality of my wits,
Forthwith used my quill.
On hollow halls I wandered,
In search of ghostly intoxications.
As whispers seduced me,
Razing my hardening cock.
A hag of an Edda
luring me to darkening gables,
there upon she circumcised me,
filling my girth with trifles.
Beyond the brothels of catacombs,
Thirst wet for communion of the cunt,
I genuflect to my muse.
Celebrating wine of her juices.
I the Sandman of the dusk,
In ebony of nightly chills.
Will close your eyes in trust,
And kiss you in the valley of tits.
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