Darkness is in the well of my prose.
Like ink it exposes the quest,
Of my proclivities spreading grit.
From scribbles of my quill,
A carafe of lust builds up inside me,
Composing poetically my thirst.
Fortunes look into my stable mind.
Prescription of sensuality,
Feeding erotic creations of my dreams.
At moss and sweet magnolia scent,
Within Savannah Town of humidity.
The Sandman of me loses humility.
Spreading the dew of my penis staff,
Within the hollows of dampening cunt.
Compromising with a kiss.
On dawn of day fare thee well,
Of cum drops like soft moisture.
Seeping from your sleeping oyster.
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