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Poem

found himself doing 
something of a nose hair shuffle,
cause’ when she rolled over & 
looked up lovingly
(ode to early twenty-something bliss),
soaked in her own juices
filling up his present world
with an aura of salaciously 
sensual & succulent saporific scents
sending seductively saltigrade &
sensationally sentient shudders 
speeding throughout his
body---
because you see,
up until this moment, no lady in his bed
had ever commented on the fact that
those little hairs were flailing,
or perhaps he had just hit an age
whereupon the time spent on
trimming such hairs
seemed to be more
appropriate,
than those younger years
before.

so he took the hint,
jumping up, making his way to the 
bathroom, 
looking for a small pair scissors,
but to no avail &
he then began to panic,
looking for an electric razor
(but he knew he didn’t own one,
because he never bought one),
but again, to no avail---
all he had were the disposable razors
which he used to chop away the
5 o’clock shadow,
which he allowed  to grow over the
weekend, before he had to mow the lawn
& return to wage slavery on
Monday.

after stepping out of the bathroom to 
take a quick gander at her laying 
sprawled out with her legs open,
he jumped quickly back in front of the
mirror, picked up a disposable &
tore the blades upwards across the bottom
of his nose, getting rid of the wild hairs
that she had pointed out only moments
ago,
while also slicing himself,
causing a flow of blood
which handfuls of toilet paper 
took an embarrassing amount of time
to mop up.

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