Sweet escape, apple pie,
Chocolate milk, fresh baked rye.
Smooth white cream, jet-black veil,
Golden shards, old wives tale.

Fantasy at last unfolding unfolding
blacksmith rules the forge.
Sex appeal on display,
without thought of remorse,
Stomach full with sweet porridge,
Let lust just run its course.

The empty speak of religious hallows,
Has failed to cheat forthcoming gallows.
Darkened robes hang from thy bones,
Reading epilogues from tomes.

Question always what is spoken,
Mind submerged and torso soaken.
Bathed in natures blightful fury,
Leaving all who venture weary.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Mayan, in the year 526 AF.