you have decided to draw a tracing of your observations regarding a blanket you have tossed over the subject of your latest poem...
he humbly smirked, without pretension or malice,
solely regarding his inkwell and chalice.
the former had carried the blood of his quill,
a black beyond viewing through mortal eyes,
the latter a mixture of absinthe and lies.
His poem was clearly a product of both,
the stuff of rumor, but dressed up in gold.