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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Animal · #1083488
Written for the Spewlitzer Prize contest. Deliberately bad poetry!
Genus Ovis, A Love Poem


The agricultural dwelling in which I reside
Has naught but drosophila buzzing inside.
So sojourn to the rouge quonset where you doth hide
Your lanolin infused covering makes my loins swell with pride.

Thy pulchritudinous bleating , I must confide
Makes my inner core temperature rise like the tide.
The lunar effulgence in your visage two-eyed,
Makes me want to partake of a prurient ride.

Your prehensile lips masticate the grain inside
My perspiring palm as I stroke your backside.
Your bestial pheromones cannot be denied.
Oh! Genus Ovis, will you be my bride?


*Note1*This poem was built to be bad. Please help my progress in this contest by rating it one *Star*! Thank you!*Note1*
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