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Into The Water

Tags: writing
Asked by an acquaintance.
Walking the banks of Blue Pond,
with cattails and white swans.
Of birds in trees,
looking down at me.
Adagio Sabadicus,
why are you dark?

You are not seeing the real me.
There is a difference in penning creation,
and seeing reality.
The quill swallows the ink,
the paper catches it. 
That is not ebony.
Sometimes melancholy.

Toss a few pebbles
into the water.
See the ripples reach out.
That's my world.
Like a Saturn with rings,
I prose sensuality. 
Pleasures of the flesh.
Bold and daring.
The epitome of the shrew.

Eroticism is my favor,
deep and penetrating. 
Like a spirit it sticks,
to the mortal soul,
while my cock throbs.
The paper absorbs
words I scribe. 
Masturbating on soft linen.
Hunger in her eyes. 

The beauty of her breasts
of her feminine divinity.
Sometimes scribing, 
male penises and the rest.
If that is dark,
I am guilty.
Of birds in trees,
looking down at me.
She swallows my seed.

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