A Traveller’s Ode To A Lost Love

On departing I could not foresee,

How much it was you meant to me,

But now I squat so far away,

And I feel your absence night and day.

What lonely death each pang resembles,

Indeed, at night, my stomach trembles,

And wakeful I fly from my bed,

No other thought clear in my head,

Than to rid myself of this heart-breaking pain,

See your half-remembered form again.

To know once more that gentle squeeze,

The pleasure as I carefully tease,

Your shaft so long, engorged, packed-in,

The warmth of your touch as you brush my skin.

But imagining’s no good, my disappointment acute,

It’s just a pale and watery substitute,

And I’m powerless to stop the flow…

Oh solid poo, I miss you so.

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