The street-lamps burn amid the baleful glooms, Amidst the soundless solitudes immense Of ranged mansions dark and still as tombs. ...5 The silence which benumbs or strains the sense Fulfils with awe the soul's despair unweeping: Myriads of habitants are ever sleeping, Or dead, or fled from nameless pestilence! Yet as in some necropolis you find 50 Perchance one mourner to a thousand dead, So there: worn faces that look deaf and blind . I moved behind him and ran my hands up his smooth firm thighs. He arched his back even more and I saw his asshole for the first time. Tight and alittle pink, with just a little bit of hair around the hole. I softly began to kneed his cheeks with my hands, gently spreading his hole open each time. Tim moaned quietly and rubbed his face on the bedding beneath him. Like a moth to a flame, I pressed my face between his cheeks and pressed them against me. My tongue eagerly finding his hole and. More

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