Non-Erotic PoetryIn the sick roomI've never smelled
something quite so foul.
The definition of putressence,
like garbage rotting for a month, liquified.
Cleaning out an abcessed wound.
How could a little ball of fur
produce such fluid?
Surely this must be
a labor of love.
I could not do this
for a strange cat.
Share the love
Report a Bug
1 Pages:1
Please Rate This Submission:
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- Recent
Comments - Add a
Comment - Send
Feedback Send private anonymous feedback to the author (click here to post a public comment instead).
English
There are no recent comments - Click here to add a comment to this poem