Fearless were you,virgin little boy,eighteen years,made you employ. A joy to the eyein my eye I like.Here don’t despisethe eye enjoys spikes. Of light gleamssteam of a beamof light extremeenter like machine. Glycerine spillson skin where belongagain do fiends songhas righted wrongs. Take my sillyventures like a sail.Blow wind kill me,the lowly frail. But I Continue reading