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Pooetry

Brown Batter

I may have accidentally spilled my guts.
A loose bowel has given me the spluts.
I might have an unexpected visitor.
Arriving in my pants, darkly brown and sinister.
In these cheeks, are there stinky cold cuts?

Before I stand I give my buttocks a wiggle.
Maybe my cheeks will feel a brown squiggle.
So far I think I’m in the clear.
No gooey gunk felt in my rear.
Time for inspection, I don’t wanna see drizzle.

I stand and sniff about the air.
Then take a step, oh yes I dare.
My cheeks shift, do I detect brown lube?
It feels ok in my inner flesh tube.
Now I must see how my undies fare.

This issue at hand is a delicate matter.
I can’t rush inspecting poossible rear scatter.
I carefully peel the dacks from my butt.
It feels sticky, am I in a brown rut?
I wish I had insurance for flooding of brown batter.

Pure Pooetry

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