Quoth I, Of I

The seed of self doubt, has reared its complicated head
Tranquil as a red sunset, calm as a storm unmet
Where clouds leak, onto my every doubt

Twilight soon becomes night, the night becomes enchanted
Where fairies once dwelt, on a land made of felt
Time for bed, dreams need to be dream fed

Oh to feel your tender lips, upon my thighs
When true love, once had a name
My heart, bleeds dry

Little atmosphere, but really atmospheric
To all, and sundry's surprise
Quoth I, of I

by Jemia