Erstwhile in my banter of mortality,
I was but a bookshop monger scribing.
Barely eking out dust mites squeaking,
Ignored by cobwebs in my dormers.
Etching philosophy of hummingbirds wafting.
Insomnia grabbing me by my latch pin,
In quest of arousal I confess.
My incubation of darkening erotica,
As my penis flirted in my inclination.
Self rising and throbbing toasting rum.
Within my swilling and tokens of opium,
And upon visual circumstance playing,
Small penises come my way gathering as armies.
On sixty-four squares of the chess board,
Swaying peckers heckling me.
If it wasn't for sanity I would harken illusions.
Miniature testicles and two Queens in drag.
Brandishing cocks in my shadowed boudoir,
As I cum on parchment prosing my fantasies.
Of stone stoned blue stones jousting in the night.
Like freaking ivory giving me a fright,
In breezes wind blow through windows.
My manhood spewing it's cum,
The one-eyed serpent whispering.
"Let the battle begin."
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