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Tags: erotic

In my sanctum and my all about me,
My whisperers follow my shadows
As if spirits within my habitat strolling. 
I'm hailed as an eccentric, pinching tush.

As I ramble, wearing my sanity,
On my lapel I pin white roses.
Cravat and chapeau, carrying a cane,
High top shoes and argyle socks. 

The poet with dust, I sprinkle prose,
Of gigolos, maidens and a few pimps.
Sometimes having conversations,
Like an old piano, I tighten my strings. 

On wings of phantoms, I create chills,
Like mystic trolls, beneath bridges I pass,
Creating illusions of knee-licker's praying. 
Kicking stones and broken bones.

With stanzas and paragraphs of musk I write,
My cock ticking like a methadone on steroids
As I swallow my anxiety pill.
The cuckoo of my clock, breaking a spring. 

Tits of fine china I polish with my lips
As if cum I drool on porcelain.
Masturbating, sipping my nightly swill,
Garnished with my swollen liver.

Composing lust on hallelujahs and thorns,
Grasping my cock like a mythical horn,
Like an old piano, I tighten my strings.
In my grandeur, poetic porn.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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