Talcum

A caw of my words ring, of a bard's composing,
as a quilt of dusk spreads dark at my pane
and with a swill of the brew, I hang a curse.
With a gift of the sass, in seduction she verse,
my mused smiled with a seductive grin,
as her talcum lay about my chin.
Of patterns, she designs on my manliness,
etching fingertips on my penis
and wrapping them about my shaft.
With her thighs, she parts in style,
to do my pecker in it's idle rise,
as her talcum lay about my chin.