NSFW

This poem is not suitable for work.
Think of it as an uncomfortable masturbation
in a toilet cubicle next to your boss
while his Thursday night bhuna explodes.
This poem is not suitable for work.
In layman’s terms it resembles
a piss-poor German porno,
acceptable only with a fetish for functional.
This rhythmic ensemble is highly unsuitable
for the corridors of power,
like your Auntie enjoying a golden shower
while you watch Masterchef down the stairs.
This poem is not safe for work,
but may grow on you slowly
like a genital wart
caught from the Head of HR.
This piece of writing is NSFW,
particularly in New South Fucking Wales –
where cracked photocopier glass
was caused by a fat sweaty arse.
This poem is not suitable for work
due to many reasons already mentioned,
but mainly because​
I say fuck, shit and cocks at the end.

 

Ellis Hawkes writes the things you’d like to, but are afraid your Aunt Mavis might read and tell your Mum. It’s mainly just swear words strung  together loosely. You can follow Ellis on Twitter @ecosserotica

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