The Moon's Soufflé Rises Over Chichester

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: General Erotica  |  House: Booksiesilk Classic Group


The Moon's Soufflé Rises Over Chichester

I think their souls are driving me mad. Perhaps, it's too much chicory and eggshells. With embryos. Once a connoisseur of the Muskegon trout, imported from the colonies. Now I dabble in the black arts. Chewing my fingernails and waiting for my muse to entertain me. "Is it me, or am I off kilter?"
 
A bookshop monger by day. With fair prices, and tea for my ladies of refined gentrification. By night, a scoundrel with a fetish for the powdered cunts, who attend operatic sundown. Listening to the likes of Enrico Caruso "It's my table salt for a night on the town.

Bathing my erected phallus with d'eau pinot noir. "My pillar perking from my groin. to your cunt, O silly maid."

The hand in the dark, reaching from the basket of the night. Like the social chameleon, I am. Bringing you truffles as I touch your breath. Inhaling your soul, in death's twilight. As the moon's soufflé rises over Chichester.


Submitted: July 08, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Atticus Abbey. All rights reserved.

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