I will die daily,
I will become blind,
I will move mountains
And call Cupid
Humans hollering hasty hellos
At all. And annulling again.
My mangy moonsongs made mincemeat
This night within the Cellar of Desire,
the warmth of Pleasure's Embrace
will push Me onwards
to Satisfaction's End,
Between these twin boulders -
Discouragement and frustration galore -
Is trapped talent.
Smothered by dirt,
Roving eyes in eternal meander
Ontop the pudgy stalk of pretty Amanda.
Choking a well earned cardio-balance