This warning, please heed: if you’re hoping to read a nice poem wot’s sweetness and light

Then please bugger off (*winky-wink, polite cough*) because this one’s all saucy (and shite).

You put up with my rants and my rambles all day and you know my position on celery

And a film I adore (might have said so before—  ‘sgot a cop who’s a tad Peter Wellery)

I could waffle away, go all Joyce, Hemingway—sit reflecting, respecting the muse

But the posts that you buggers engage with the most? Whenever there’s mention of boobs

I’ve been known to immerse in the beauty of verse but I want all DEM LIKEYS, godfuckit

So forget all the beats and the metery treats and the rhymes ’bout the guy from Nantucket

Me, I love the profound but you want big and round—or just perfectly pert in your palmie

Whether perky or droopy, you’re truly boob-groupies—my titular orb-lovin’ army

But I’m sorry to say: I must put them away, coz I bring a new thing to the table

And although it ain’t boobies, it’s still rather rude— full of sauce (well, of course) for appraisal:

It is better, I s’pose, than the complexest prose, or yakkin’ all day ’bout the weather

I should like to discuss why we kick up a fuss about waxing (or not) regions nether.

So what can I say about hairy va-jays—or clean-shaven, if that is your thang?

Come on, let us know: are you raring to go with a baldy or bushy poontang?

Do you like ’em all neat, those wee curtains of meat—or straight out of a seventies porno?

For maybe your ex had the bushiest sex (because shaving would leave her all raw, no?)

(At this point I digress, for I have to confess that I just used my pettiest hate

When I called it a ‘sex’ which is truly pathecks: yucky yoof-misms I do not rate

But when crowbarring rhymes into quest’nable lines, the bar is already quite low

So dear reader, acquit: forgive werds-wot-are-shit; ‘ave a fag, ‘ave a laff, let it go)

Back to flaps: if you’re ginge, do you have a red minge—or d’ya whizz off the hairs as they sprout?

If you have a blonde head but yer pyabs are bright red, you must dye one or t’other, no doubt?

Once de-furred, d’ya partake of a merkin while werkin’ cold rooms in the nude, unattired?

If you grow back the fluff does it warm up yer muff? Do ya suffer hairs on the inside?

There is no way of knowin’ a hair is ingrowin’ until it presents as a spot

Oh, it’s terrible, that, when there’s lumps on yer twat (so I’ve heard – not a problem I’ve got)

But be sure not to blunder your wonder down under, just keep it the way you prefer:

Matching collars and cuffs, fuss your puss till you must; go for satin or covered with fur

Just listen up, girls: many virtues have curls on yer beautiful vertical smiles;

Although bald is good too; you do YOU with yer foo — coz vaginas are always in style.

You might think me disgustin’ but I’m only discussin’ — I loves me some natural pewbs . . .

. . . And believe it or not this all started up top with a thought that I had about bewbs.