The Vayniac Poem

In mysterious alchemy, we find solace.
Crimson tentacles extending inward,
Rivulets begin untold, malice laden,
Cloying, begotten, beguiling, forgotten,
Not entirely rotten transgressions.

Yet profundity requires forbearance
Righteousness and perseverance,
And if consciousness fails us, though expected,
just allow this to soothe lubriciously
For blood cannot abide

And she tastes unequivocally, unveiling, unrelenting
Of peaches soaked prodigiously in my Clone 5.

- 100% Vayniac-written, one word at a time.