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Spills The Ink

Tags: erotic
In prose there is breath of sensuality.
The words of the Sandman,
I am he, who spills ink.

With stem of the feather I scribe,
So be it for given eyes to read,
Erotic parables of the flesh swaying.

Evenings bring falling melodies
Of laughter's and hijinks,
Thrill of the dark, I harken my lust.

Oyster of the cunt, I divide willing,
The clit of the pearl I suckle on dish,
Witches' brew steeping.

Rising thighs, opening wide I drink,
Leading my cock down to my confession,
The vagina is the well of my thinking.

In swilling of the elixir of the crevice,
My cum splatters,
I am he, who spills the ink.

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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