the sickly hours draw near I’ve been out on the prowl feasting with panthers and laying with the low life bleeds out from my promiscuous regions my seed, the gift of our benefactor was spilled again on vulgar ground my affections are fleeting and carnal there’s a laboratory in my mind where pornographic experimentations are crudely coupled with shameful recollections so I make meat in wee small hours to feed the fire that burns in my loins ever the same incessant pounding a tide of lovers float into memory people like us know what we’re doing people like us have rapacious hearts
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