In book-worn shop, Ole Buttons 'n' Bones,
Tomes forgotten by time haggard by dust,
In consequence of the molting quill,
Jousting with the phallus of my pen I scribe.
Humble crumble of my wooden planks
And mites in my meager stipends,
Erotic quests I confess with etch,
Masturbating with ink of my swank.
Sward of my mentality rules,
Insomnia basting sleepless nights,
In fornication I drool my everlasting,
Verses of the soft flesh.
Fata, nocturnal host my muse,
Sensual scent of her eternal quest,
In narrows of the throat she digest,
Endowment of my thickness fest.
Dawn of chill, I swill my comeuppance,
Ooze of the penis drippings this night,
Echoes of shadows my pantomime,
In book-worn shop, Ole Buttons 'n' Bones.
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