In my daily ado as keeper and sweeper of tomes,
Poetically I scribed not of lamp moths,
But sensuality of Sandman's flirtation with prose.
Erotically I have no misgivings,
As opinions are passé.
Darkness is the fillet mignon of erotic thrills,
And the tenderness of soft flesh I thrive.
By-passing Marigolds and sweets,
Chilling with my quill I feast.
Scribing on lines I drip my seed.
Precum cascading down my shaft seeping into wood.
In residency I am outcast of visiting spirits.
One's that try to shame me into wearing a halo,
As my soul follows shadows of my dreams.
Exploring all quest of my libido.
In flight I take my leave at dusk from my abode,
On wings of blue butterfly I soar in haste.
In mime of my inebriation seeking dreamers,
I the Sandman of Aberdeen.
Spewing my ambrosia from my prick.
Sweeping away your lullabies of night dreams,
Bequeathing to you nocturnal fornication.
As your cunt takes rise to my manhood,
Accepting grains of grit I sling.
In celebration of my lusting.
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