Oh how I loath your pimply mound
That causes distress and furtive glances.
But it is nearly impossible to describe my satisfaction
As I pinch your hardened globule of puss
Out of its crevasse and swollen glandules.
For nothing compares to watching your white roundness,
Contrasted starkly against red droplets,
And wiping you free of my aching face
With a strip of toilet paper
And throwing you in the waste basket.