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