I'm quite sure, I know not, a poem so lovely as a twat. A bush whose hungry mouth lays wet, forget your true love’s tangled net. The bush that guards a snatch by day, is an arrow sign to point the way. Bush some trim for summer wear, or leave as a jungle nest of hair. But below each mound of fur, a magic spot makes the kitty purr. My poems are just a foolish stunt, it takes more than words to please a cunt :)
