Whimsy

It was a wistful longing for the night winds that had me pawing dark sensuality. As my breath condensate in a brume of sooted smoke from the nearby chimneys. And I grinning a grin of a harlequin. As I lit the gaslights, a choir in the distance harken a carol. "O come all ye faithful..."

Beneath my button britches, my manhood twitched, with Old Nick's itch. And with a glint in my monocle, I sauntered to her portal. In hopes to grovel in her skirts.

Forgoing my roguish behavior in spite of myself. While under the thumb of my gin and sweet bouquet of gorse from the meadows.

"Rest ye well my frumpish dowager, as the toll bells sound."

It was the darkness of it all. A shade of almonds. The gin that would make me giddy as the night winds howled the siren's soliloquy as my tongue thirsted.

Spawning an unfinished beginning to my daylong dream chats. Hibernating by day in the bowels of the city.

Seen as a vagrant among my writing peers. Cognizant of their jeers over my behavior as I flicked my wrist, from my hermit hovel. My underground cauldron, beneath London Town. Inhabited by nameless souls of countless proportions.

Now I am a scavenger of the shipping docks with a lustful eye. By night I quoted Shakespeare and Poe. Anything for a tankard of ale and warmth of a body as the night shrouds cover.

Now in my spell, a specter rose. Rising from the shadows of my mind. As her pale showed. Attired in black with a long trailing veil with a breath that froze the embers in the hearth. Her eyes gray as winter storms gave me alarm as she lifted the lace.

Kissing me with cold lips of blue. As panes in the gable cracked and in flew the winds. Winds of immorality and deceit as my wife slept next to me in her peaceful whimsy.