OK, honestly, this is like the last thing about which one should write a poem, but then I thought to myself, "Hey! What the hell..."
This is a narration of a certain act by someone who is the quintessential master of that act.
For want of nothing better to do,
When vivid images say hi to you,
When carnal feelings take a hold,
And the blankets only you enfold,
It's time to do what a man needs must,
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Find a seat, either to sit or shit,
And like a dyslexic beyblade, lep it rit.
And pull, but lo, be careful please,
You do not want pain, and no disease,
And a fracture may come here or there,
And to pull and tug you'll ne'er dare
So like the desire, do take care,
And don't yank on those delicate hairs,
Just the thingy-thing needs a gentle tug,
And be careful not to wet the rug.
Diverse ways can do this deed
Hands are sometimes not your need
Lay you down, gut to ground,
And shake till wetness you have found
But alas this leaves a nasty stain,
As if you uncouthly 'let it rain',
So try this at your very own shame,
Cos such stains do cause much infame.
Now you must hold on, to produce a lot,
So laugh to scorn what you initially got,
Hold, hold, hold and hold it up,
And like my good friend, produce a cup.
But a quickie can also do the round,
When others do near you abound
And the desire does o'errun all sense,
Do it now, masked by academic pretence.
So now i've schooled you on an act,
Of which some know not, that's a fact.
But I just laid bare all that I possess,
Knowledge that'll help you in excess.
White and frothy, you will like a lot,
The sensation once you have it got,
And though it might give pain but some,
Just pull and pull till kingdom come.
