Scratch in the Snatch

The sun rose on the junkies
Like a big crack bouquet
Yet something was different
In Venice that day

She found that her hand
Had crested her thigh
First an itch then a scratch
Then a gash! My oh my!

To find out the culprit
Her legs she did spread
And looked down to realize
Her snatch was all red

Where the sun did not shine
Small beasts took a hold
They hid under her girl parts
In the pink fleshy folds

“Ouch” the girl said
When she did try to pee
“I think that a yeasty
Has just bitten me!”

First she panicked and gaped
Where have these things come from?
“Oh fuck!” she exclaimed
“Have I done something dumb?”

She jogged through her mind
And she minded her snatch
But nothing would fix it!
Just to scratch and to scratch.

Back at home in Seattle
A cure she did get
The beasts jumped the ship
“Let’s find a brunette!”

Did she learn a good lesson?
I don’t think so. You see:
It’s better to have more sex
Than to be itchy-free

It’s hard to imagine
How this poem could end
Without a THANKS SKW
For being my friend.