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Standing Stones

Tags: erotic
Wheezing of my sobriety and the dry month on my pen,
On herbal tea with rum I steep within my comprehend. 

My bonnie lass of Aberdeen town,
Her shadow awakens my poetic intentions.

The chill of the dew on the fallen branches lay stoned, 
Like a quilt of darkening times caressing olden tomes. 

In hollows of my harking blue erotica I compose, 
Quagmires restraining the catacombs of my soul.

Sable of my writing may sway like limbs,
Slogging eerily the chilling swamps daily.

Like a mosquito I do fan the itch of sensuality, 
Scratching at the surface of one's libido. 

My quill arises from the plains of the black oak, 
With fist the penis I choke. 

Fornications well spent through the hourglass,
Seeping sand of midnight cuckoo. 

Scribing on yellowed parchment of last eve's libation,
Dripping the seed on the lines I read.

Catawampus like shillelaghs of labyrinths 
And idioms of standing stones like cocks.

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