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Erotic Tempest

Tags: erotic
In the obsidian heirloom of my dust, 
I cast shadow, falsetto of my mime, 
On crusty tomes and yellowing pages. 

In the well of my creative cavity,
My insomnia grasp me by the chill, 
Like the quill, I scribe fornications.

Born of spawning and steeping brew, 
Ginseng tea and my scribbling pen stew,
Cock and vagina, like fine china I queue. 

Crunching words in far reaches of my sanity,
In the deep cracks of my mortality,
Sensual pleasures of the erotic tempest.

On the edge of yesterday I reflect,
Lest we forget fortnight ago,
In the mirror of coming tomorrows.

Copulation and salutations, I mend,
Like a loom I spin my ilk,
Being as I am the poet, I comprehend.

Genuflecting at the crevice of dawning slit, 
With tongue and lips, I kiss,
Giving my proclivities of clit, I hiss.

The cunt the cornucopia of all pleasures,
Entrée of divine, I feed my soul. 
In accepting the horn, I hum man cum.

Within the bellows of nearing storm,
Braying masturbation, my wind song. 
Sensual pleasures of the erotic tempest.

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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