I beckon thee, to come visit me, in the garden of virility.
Where men are carved from your darkest fantasy;
and the women spun from your forbidden cupidity.

Where carnal knowledge is given freely;
and is taken just as quickly.

Oh dearest, infatuation;
given your love and lust till they blur and swirl.

Good sir.
Oh, Sweet madam.
Lost in the down wards spiral of your avidity.

I beckon thee, to play with me, in our hectic world of make believe.
Where women are carved out of false trickery;
and the men spun from wicked forgery.
Where  nothing seems to be, what it is.

The garden of falsity.