A sandbag
Full of frothy fumes, only alone
Standing unassumingly
So highly erected thereby
On its last legs of fancy
As if so ejaculating in droplets
Of fear and upcoming fortunes
In sighs of somebody
To feel shyly the nakedness
Of willing moments
Lapsing  into lolling saliva.

So far and so on
Not kissing nor relishing
The jerking verves
Of the moonlight
In sackclothes of the sky
In strained silence
Overlapping the shadows
Of its stillness
In a passerby’s parting ways
Of forbidden lust
And engaging passion
Of lasting froth
And ephemeral fumes.

Caged in blue moments
Surrounding the loneliness
Into the blobs of void
Of the sandbag, only so lonely
Accursed in its own standby
As enchanting folly
Of juvenile delinquency

Seeing the rare chance
Of the hapless creature
In nakedness of loneliness
The nomadic passerby
Got to the business as usual
In howling rains and heat
Of stoking fire
In reaping the harvest
Of the burden of his shoulder
In spilling fragrance
Of frothy semens to stand by.