some dreams are terrible some dreams are sacred their fragments alive only in memory she treads through my dreams with delicate feet I pursue, but I never quite catch her she rides on the breeze - just out of reach I dreamed she was here last night I did my best to be appealing she glowed in appreciation how I enjoyed putting out the charm and watching it connect better than putting out fear and watching it twist with calculated effect
I’m a kindly old ruin or so she said a
man with no soul an ancient plumed
serpent with come to bed eyes I was designed to produce offspring like every
other creature not cower in the
suburbs shining my dick I’m now sixty
four and coming of age (about fucking time) I’m no longer afraid just
too old to do much about it perhaps
I’m too aged to still cut the
mustard but a man can still
dream if that’s all that’s left
him a man can still hope that dreams can come true
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