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.