Exchanging Poetry for Sex

Several years ago, I wrote a poem. I used to recite this poem to all the young ladies out there in a lame attempt to get laid. (You know how the ladies swoon over the artist types).

 

Anyways, it is titled ‘In the Hot Sun,‘ and it goes as follows:

 

“Delicate olfactory sensors embrace the scant scent as it wafts gently from my glimmering finger tips,

 

prior to an endearing engagement in which they  re-familiarize themselves with my nether regions.

 

Along with the warmth spread across my epidermis, excreted after an intense day of physical labor,

 

emitted from the sun’s children.”

 

So this poem never got me laid, but I am still happy having recited it straight faced to many pretty young women, because once you remove all the Latin and fancy words. the poem reads:

 

“I like to smell my fingers

 

after I have scratched my balls,

 

after a long day of work

 

in the hot sun.

 

(Just thought I would let you all in on the joke). (Don’t sleep with me should I recite this to you).