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Click hereShe's bored by all the fetishists she finds
who write one handed. While she entertains,
they're splashing on the curtains or the blinds;
And this frustrates, because she rarely gains
insights into literature or lust;
while writing partners spurt or squelch their need;
And she can only see the festering crust
of their spilled fun, as artlessly they plead
their excuses and rush off for a clean;
She's certain their disgrace simply won't serve
the higher forms; and that the head of steam,
they built up with each climax, won't preserve
their friendship with a cultured girl, not awed
by fetishists she's found: they leave her bored.
writing and like demure, I like that you've obscured the form with a pretty dazzling run of words. I'm not sure I like the use of "festering" especially with "crust" as I don't think a crust can fester, can it? Also there's a bit of an ew factor there which doesn't really add anything to the poem otherwise. Overall though the poem made me smile: it's the kind of situation that could only happen in our modern digital world and you stated it politely (mostly), but clearly and cleverly.