Written for The Weekly Terrible Poetry Contest.
My love, as the still light shines on your lice
Ah, I smell the onions matted on your breath.
What else? Your nose hairs are threads to soon slice,
And when I leave I thank god I didn’t retch.
My beloved, a shore of love passes through me
When I do catch whiff of your gastro winds,
They move like the barnacles on your knees
Oh, as I stroke the maggots off your skin!
Your eyes are red as a blowfly’s
Your ears are clouded with wax opaque spots
Your lips hoofed with your special spoiled meat pie
Beloved, you smell worse than Death’s trots.
As I lie in bed and think, lord what else?
My chest rises in warbling warmth and I melt.