In the oblivious of my humbleness,
Casting shadows on canisters,
The shredded bones of tomes within.
I stir as if cauldrons with paddles.
Piecing together words of poetic sway,
Questioning not my mental way,
Dark tales rising from ink of my well.
Drying on paper composing sensuality.
Of forget-me-not's and contraries,
Cobwebs of dew, dripping on glass.
Etching I scribe erotic inclinations,
Of beautiful women and invitations.
Whispering to me in shadow's mime,
Sighing of fornication they seek
And literature entwining libidos.
Arousals of the flesh.
From covenant of my hideaway abode,
Window of the shimmering dormer I peek,
I, the poet, writing at dusk,
Casting shadows on canisters.
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