More awful poetry

In my efforts to fully explore the encapsulating world of "Seymour Stúf," I had a go at more poetry; this time just making it up as I went along and seeing what happened.

...I'm glad I'm using a fake identity. I post this only in the name of science...


A curious infraction in plight of jest,
When woe betide at her behest,
In grim staccato in turn I find,
Her silky touch has made me blind.

Raptured by her sly beguile,
And led astray all through the while,
By the collar I was led,
And all because she gave good head.

The scheming fiend has come and gone,
Into the night she went anon,
And folk will ask "Where did she go?"
Buried, as she is, under the patio...

Methinks I'll try some more. As usual, if you want to see more click the link, join up (and earn me $0.00000001 or something) and help me antagonise lunatics and morons.

Have fun kids,

HMR