Fire-side. Divisions hemming -- solitude.

Aware of teasing fervor beckoning

Me forward into endless altitude...

To only tumble down, unsettling

Twine cordage; branding disowned pellets,

Which hemorrhaged swain barren on the wastes;

Forsak’n to burnup with thoughts of their fellate,

That warm vulgar tongue and thine lips did taste.

While sweltering antics only oppressed

This incandescent fury baking below

Pellet riddled flesh. Scorching your undressed

Breast too bare what you are, just a dutch-hoe.

Yet...as seasons smolder, this mind can’t end

The axiom: to write of you won’t bend.