On Creation of a Private World

I

The dragon bit 

More of the shank 

Than he could chew 

Rinsed his maw

With malt whiskey,

Spit fat

A hollow tooth

in the spittoon. 

II

A way to be born

And a way of death

Two that are spawned 

In one great breath

III

Offed her smock

At the altar

For Priapus

At dusk

With candle lit

In the sanctum

A succubus.