Doolally

Suffering not the woofers,
for my mind is long and well,
I bear a quill and some ink
to chatter up darken tales.

Be it fulminous or near dusk,
seeming a bit doolally,
my cock suckers up to a peach,
if it's obviously raised with a swell.

And now that the peat is on the moss,
I am at loss for anabiosis,
when the cunt is on the floss,
I remain lost in your woo.

But as my words stutter,
singing of Marilee,
we will kiss the early morn,
seeming a bit doolally.