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A contortionist achieves ******
Her ******* saluting her lips
From within an envelope of pleasure
Causing local beatitude
Though one may query such enthusiasm
Her ******* cooing mollifying concert
Waltzing against the hips of autumn temptation
That she was vibrant
Or that she was barren
Or that in artistry
This plausible microsecond
The happening of dawn quite imminent
And a canary perched upon a fence
Lavish us with falsettos
Each and every organism throughout the universe
Itself just below its conception
And love equalizes the balance
I speak in praise of the *******, yes,
and as a male, I decline to be clandestine about this.
The reason I so admire the ******* is that it's the female's key
to being multiply *******, and frankly, I'm in awe of this.

You see, the male ***** can't compare
because, of course, it has a dual purpose.  
It wasn't put there just for bliss,
which is the only purpose of the *******.

Males must just resign
themselves to their dangling ganglia, the ****,
which is so easy to malign compared to the delicate paradigm
of the **** and its remarkable economy of design.

Now I realize that females may be suspicious
of my focus on their *******
but actually, I think it’s ingenious.  
My own discovery of this was serendipitous and propitious.

You see? Really, I’m envious of the *******
because it's indefatigable and delectable,
(I think she likes a little nibble),
and anyway, there’s not much point in trying to distinguish
between ******* and the *******.

So there's my poem to the little ****
with admiration and respect.
I speak in praise of the *******.
Truly. A gift for all of us.

— The End —