Cloister Roamers

When nights shall be drunk

And souls be tumbling in revelry

When the comic of roles end

And cold shall be burning

I await to call the utmost illegitimate side of us

As my penchanted pleasure

For you be semisane

Caught half into adulthood and rest you know...

Neither you nor me or they

Be skeptical or carrying the peels of scruples

Don't.