Fortuitous are those that see,
sensuality is ebony and silent.
So goes the night.
Muted echoes.
Like libations
of my quill.
I write swill
of erotic chills.
Spilling over darken clouds,
into the dawn of new morn.
Like a blanket of dew,
my vampire wings cover you.
Like libations
of my quill.
I scribe new birth,
metamorphosis.
My penis throbs fornication.
Precum dripping lust,
like every day's forever.
My gift of immortality.
Like libations
of my quill,
Penning with my ink,
muted echoes.
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