Category Archives: Poetry of the Arse
morning fruit
O morning fruit of bowel’s rumble, towards the s-bend’s curves you tumble, you start out pure sphinctoid extrusion, and end as poo and water fusion.
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clockwork
O morning poo you come like clockwork, and stretch my ring like well-hung cock-work, now like a student of fine arts, I can only do soft hissing farts.
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rock and sometimes glue
Morning poo O morning poo, sometimes you’re rock and sometimes glue, but each day when I wake there’s you, O morning friend my morning poo.
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starfish
O morning poo you leave my starfish, like a stinking muddy garfish, down into the dunny’s water, to swim just like a garfish ought.
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chilli burn
O morning fruit of bowel’s churn, you have a hint of chilli burn, to twist and turn, as to the s-bend you sojourn.
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