Loneliness cold fingers grips at his testicles, when the dreary dusk comes upon him,
He turns and churns in his bed, in a vain attempt at finding warmth.
He whittle his fingers into a tubular and aided by imagination of daughters of Lilith not found
He soils his hands in the process, his fingers carries his murk,
His pleasures end in wastage.
Far from it
A man with a wife carries all the pride.
I walk with my head held high
The leader of a super power infinite,
The girl child my sunshine.