As I compose, sitting in my think tank,
The well of my ink formulates prose.
The feathered quill of my cuckoo scribes,
Caw of the bellowing bird.
Raising the cock, my pendulum stick,
The methadone throbs words.
Pricking the pen upon the parchment,
Dew of my penis slides it's ooze.
On flesh, the poetic beast kiss,
The rising of thundering thighs.
Portal of cunt, entering infinity,
The succubus chills my taper.
As I compose, the flame froze,
On night of the erotic prose.
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