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Pooetry

Nervous

The seat is cold and strangely wet.
Probably from some other’s cheeky sweat.

It makes me nervous but my poo cannot wait.
It hastily exits my delicate date.

It pushes and bends and starts to squirm.
It moves itself just like a worm.

There is no smell, of this I am grateful.
I feared the stink would be something hateful.

And now I leave, I am quite pleased…
As the deuce I produced, flush with great ease.

Pure Pooetry

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