Ode to a Toilet

I’m not sure why, but I seem to write a good bit of awful poetry about toilets. No real reason, as far as I can tell. I’m hoping this isn’t some kind of subconscious fetish thing or something; that would totally creep me out.

Ode to a Toilet

Ceramic idol,
Short, stoic and proud:
When my work is done,
You holler aloud.
Ever there for me,
To hug and to sit.
You’re whom I visit,
When bursting with shit.
Simple, yet complex —
Like porcelain art.
The essence of man
Goes straight to your heart.
You swish, then swallow,
As if tasting wine.
Never in judgement;
Not one to malign.
Accepting of all
No matter what comes:
Piss, urine or pee;
The squirts or the runs.
To be you toilet
Must be a great thrill:
For you see more ass
Than I ever will.

Behold a creature of great beauty and wonder.

Behold a creature of great beauty and wonder.

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