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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<a href="https://www.lushstories.com/stories/erotic-poems/standing-stones.aspx">Standing Stones</a>