the better man you don't see every day
minus his trowsers he did crush himself—
when, from sundry violent gasps and strains
I inferred he was at work booting himself;

he emerged much dented crushed and damp,
off of a bitter morning to the street
the more I begged to get into his pants
as soon as possible and then proceed.

to my amazement, lathering his face
I watch to see his razor, the harpoon.
what fine harpoon and how exceedingly straight
as he proudly marched out of the room

I quickly followed, very pleasantly.
I cherished my bedfellow, cheerfully.