O, mighty sack of growth and gunk,
Waiting to slowly balloon with blossoming viscera.
Following the phallic fray,
The incipient inflation will drop anchor in your depths.
Pink and pudding-ey, you will
And keep our scion safe
For months of swirling, semi-silent swimming.
Elastically, elegantly, your enveloping embrace
Nurtures and contains with glorious goo.
Sometimes I write poetry about body parts. This happens when I get misty-eyed about stuff for which I don't otherwise have a specific outlet.