Compulmation

Copulmation

Do I go to where I dare
Standing in my underwear?
Scamper uphill I do climb
In my little pantomime.
Could it not be understood,
My little place made of wood?
Fevered, drunk, full of wine,
Is this feeling so sublime?
There’s no procrastination
Found here in culmination.
Stand to find what is benign,
In my little pantomime?