The old codger sat
His hands in his lap
Waiting for pleasure
The moment to treasure
When Constance walked by
No stockings or tights
And he could expose
And see how she froze
When she saw his red flesh
Which he firmly pressed
Tween thumb and forefinger
In order to bring her
Alert to his action
asking for reaction
Showing she had seen him
Throbbing pulsating
His fingers gyrating
Juices escaping
in the back of the bus

to the preying machinations of madness
I don't want to subscribe….

in the wilderness
it's nice and cold
no one who confronts me
is as bold…
as you seem to be thinking only after this bard
that I could be
and in the midst of a maddening crowd,
I'd like not to bow
but to you alone
I seem endowed

as you do more than others read
many perhaps are now fed up too
what will Loved do
if none read ....

Canto Seven ~ It is Late at night and the boy crouches near waiting for his hostage to wake. He has ministered to the warrior’s injuries and takes only passing note of how swiftly they appear to heal. All accrued in combat with a monster the boy knows nothing about. His anxiety grows.
The man is more exquisite than any he has brought here and of a strange nature whose origins play tantalizingly at the memories he denies.

Anne's Refraine

In wanting I wait
the sealing of fate
in the dank gloomy womb of my room.

I pace and I scratch
at the rust ridden latch.
"To scold and to hold.", I fume.

Time is a harpy
binding me sharply.
I bleed with misdeeds
to my doom?

When guilty they hail
handled, hauled from my jail.
Relief for my grief I presume.

In wet windows high
I know He draws nigh
a bloated blood stone.
I defy!