The Invisible Man

These moist chops of sin: the receptor of egos, of sizes huge and small, agape yearning for more.

You started with one and, following one, more.

You have tamed self-esteem, waged wars, disjointed nations, crushed globes, and played moist, of all…

A man is born from one and dies hunting after one.

You come in all aromas: one that is delightful, and the worst that smells of brimstone and lime.

You reek of death.

The world has lost many in your lips.

You give lives…

The globes at your base have suffered much…

Grinding lives, sweating at their very roots, have men burnt their midnight toils.

Hermits’ give up their robes, brewing sins, to your moist throbbing,

Save alone a few high incarnates!

Ordinary men-folk diabolically kills them for you, you that sin is moist!

You come in all sizes, floppy, tight, and ones, which are not floppy and not tight.

You manifest yourself in pink, dark, and blue hues.

The worst comes in pale insignias.

Some bestow warmth. Rests are as cold as death.

You perpetrator of breeding necessary to humankind-

That you are

Sin is moist!