The eternal adolescent, suspended naked in the oratory of the Tower of Meditation.
Then insulted to his liking by the memory, though explored in full by the oblivion, his palm already moisting by the ingenious agitation, the young boy cried:
" You who have failed to nourish yourself with the virgin milk of a sorceress, drink a bitch’s seeds from the phallus of a play actress!" He shuddered, stripped of his veils. Ha! It’s done Sir Jacques!"
Gushing from under his palm, the seed, clouding the diamond ring on his finger, fell into the memory’s gaping mouth.