The beautiful nub: A truly awful poem about the (wondrous) clitoris.

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Look at me.

Just look at me.

Aren’t I the most beautiful thing,

The most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?

 

Cross your heart and hope to die,

Stick a needle in your eye,

Look at me, and try

Try to tell yourself that lie.

 

Tell yourself you don’t want to lick me,

That it is unmanly to flick me, slurp me

Rub and all over, slobber

As if I was made from clabber.

 

Look me in the eye.

Go on, look.

See how I glisten, see how I cry

Sticky tears brought forth by crook –

 

– Of finger, or elbow or knee

But truly best the tongue

Can’t you see?

You do me grave wrong

 

When you ignore,

My little nub?

 

How can anything so tender yet so strong,

Arouse an emotion

other that lust, licentiousness

Or the purest love?

 

So be I pink or red or black,

Think of me when you give it a squeeze, a tug

A slap, a tickle, a whack

and be grateful for your – or your partner’s –  little cog.

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