All Sick Senses

I have an eye for detail,
And a brown eye for fecal.

I hear a poop drop a mile away.
The sound of brown dismay.

Nostril hairs stand on end.
A filthy scent from the S-bend.

So poowerful it has a taste.
Wash your tongue with all haste!

Ever step in it with a bare foot?
The cool, squishy, liquid brown soot.

But the sixth sense is one that eludes.
You go to poo, yet nothing protrudes.

It’s like a dirty ghost from your private parts.
Could it be, this whole time was just farts?

Pure Pooetry

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