Daily Prompt, humor, poetry, Stories, thoughts, writing

The poet fights back and heads towards an R-rating.

bad poetry

It’s not because you’re feeling sick
But your neck I would offer to lick
It could be slow or it could be quick
But I know a neck lick does the trick

From your ear lobe to your chin
I’d lick and kiss your lovely skin
It might leave you with a grin
But it would leave me in a spin

I could kiss your lips whenever
Stopping for breath hardly ever
They’d have to separate us with a lever
Because we could remain lip locked forever

If only I could sate that terrible bloody itch
You wouldn’t need to ever have another bloody gritch
And you wouldn’t have to act like such a fucking bitch
It’s lines like that which make me glad you’re not a bloody witch

I would lie upon your chest
My head against your breast
I would be less stressed
I would be forever blest

With my hand upon your boob
Some may call me but a rube
But if you gave me an ice cube
I could rub your lovely jujube

With my head nestled in your tits
It would be just glamour and glitz
It would feel just like it fits
And I’d never call it quits

With my head upon you tummy
We could be very chummy
I love my children’s mummy
She’s extremely bloody yummy

In your navel I’d stick my tongue
A sweeter song would not be sung
See I’m no longer immature and young
Because I didn’t try to rhyme well hung

With my hand between your thighs
I’d be flying the friendly skies
My world would be full of highs
It would be just like winning first prize

With my head stuck in your crotch
I could mistake it for a troche
It’s something I wouldn’t botch
Can I have a glass of scotch

With all this passion we’d get frisky
I promise it wont be risky
And when your eyes a-go all misty
I’ll get you some Canadian Whiskey

On your tootsie toes I could suck
No doubt you’d be awestruck
See I’m no longer just a schmuck
Because I didn’t use the word fuck

From your head down to your feet
There is no part I wouldn’t greet
You are like a sugary treat
And you just are so darn sweet

At the dinner table you’ll always have a place mat
If I actually owned one I’d let you wear my slouch hat
By one thing that can’t be said about this wombat
Is that I’m any kind of copycat.

Your are my great mentor
I wish we could share another dance floor
Every part of you I adore
I didn’t write this just to score

I’d rather be intimate
Than have people think I’m au fait
If we went out on a date
We could listen to George Strait

With a gun it’s me you’d shoot
But I think your kinda cute
And I’m learning to be astute
I haven’t used a word like root

I’ll forever be your slave
You’ll always be my fave
Even when you treat me like a knave
And keeping wishing I was in grave

So I wrote you a lovely rhyme
You can read it at bedtime
Just remember it’s a crime
To stab me with a mime

9 Comments

  1. I don’t fully understand it as I do not comprehend the meanings of certain words.

    • The poet uses a dictionary to help use obscure words that fit into rhymes. He thinks it makes him sound educated. I told him it sounds silly and he promised the next poem would be about me.

  2. Onwards, limericks! 🙂

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