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A Wistful Longing

Tags: sensual, dark

It was a wistful longing for the night winds that had me spawing dark sensuality. As my breath condensate in a a brume of sooted smoke from the nearby chimneys. And I grinning from my hermit peepers. As I lit the gaslights, a choir in the distance harken a carol. "O come all ye faithful..."     

Beneath my button britches my manhood twitched, with Old Nick's itch. And with a glint in my monocle I sauntered to her portal. In hopes to grovel in her skirts. Forgoing my roguish behavior in spite of my self. While under the thumb of my gin and sweet gorse from the meadows.

"Rest ye well my plumpish dowager, as the bell tolls.

It was the darkness of it all. A shade of almonds. It was the gin that made me giddy. And the night winds howling a brouhaha as my  tongue thirst. Spawning and unfinished beginning to my daylong dream chats.

Hibernating by day in the bowels of the city. Seen as a vagrant among my writing peers. Cognizant of their jeers over my behavior as I flicked my wrist, from my hidey hole. My underground cauldron, beneath London Town. Inhabited by many without names. Now I a scavenger of the shipping docks with a lustful eye. By night I quoted Shakespeare and Poe. Anything for a tankard of ale.     

"Now in my spell, a specter rose. Rising from the shadows of my mind. As her pale showed in the moonlight. And she sang like a nightingale as her fingers danced on my spine. Leading me down a path where thorns grow."    


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