Monday, November 19, 2007


O holy lamb, what soft prayer was heard?
What wind makes you, a glorious wave,
that crashes on my golden shores?
What rain falls, that showers your kisses on me?

I do not mistake that rolling wave that runs
from the rock that pierces the surface of my desires,
you have no idea how hard it is,
how how its roots go down into me and wrap around my depths.

Ah but it is not for you , for you, for you
but for the money that through either flew.
My rich burning is not ashamed to be,
for the money that you gave to me.

I sit and grasp my pleasure with inner grip,
while your hands from the keyboard slip,
and I pulse with desperation,
not for you r love, and mine is imitation.

Not it is the cruel whoregasm that I crave,
and silent hours that make me brave.

AH, oh dear, the time is near,
I am coming quick, bold and without fear.

It's not the stupid things you say,
nor how you rush while your wife's away.
It's vanity that makes me glow,
and that you want me enough to part with money.
This I know.

You want your aged hands on my young soft skin,
you want your real cock to invade my within
and when you can't have these wishes cold,
sudden neo-youth's desire turns very old.

You seek for my address, and real abode,
with every power of intern-nodes
calling engines of search and find...

But all you have is truly my mind.
The one that weaves these dreams for you,
taht sees your darkest wishes through
that caresses your scar'd life,
and calms the pounding inner strife.

You do not understand love of which I give,
to be in half existence here,
so that your there might live.

By giving you what your passion demands,
though we be parted by many lands,
my curves though an image of what is real,
are the only thing you need to feel.

I know you want me to be desire's slave
and chant your name in real world's days.
But you and I know it cannot be,
that is why you came here, to me.