Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to...
LOS WAS LUST WAS LOST
Los was lust was lost
He came
Rushed her
Assaulted her
battered her
spewed forth his foaming cream
spluttering effervescent jism
spumed her with his spawning spunk
sprayed her with squirming spermatozoa
covered her with slucking froth
while Tir roared and crashed and pounded about her head
her plovers danced and fought
but were blown away
like petals
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MOONCHURCH
And
we six shadows walked
through the sepulchral splendour
of the night
bathed in the phosphorescent glow
of the moonchurch
ascending the ancient steps
on stones greasy with the fallen breath of a host of ancestors
condensed lives reduced to vapour
below
the whiteadder hisses and rustles in his gutters
wreathing silently in his pools
we reach the brocken altar
we stand in the crowded stillness
six in a congregation of thousands
warming our bodies with their sibilant presence
we offer our faces to the muffled moon
gleaming through its whispering cloak
the magus of the forgotten
fog of our memories
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To purchase this book click HERE
for a direct email link to erbacce-sales
******************************************************************
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