Staying with a poetic theme, here is something I wrote in college. As you can see, I have a rather warped sense of humor.
***
The sex life of a doorknob
is a peculiar thing, indeed
I’ve never seen them having sex
yet even doorknobs must have a need
So callous people are,
when opening a door
they twist, they yank, and then it’s done
and they regard the knob no more
How must a doorknob feel
used everyday like so?
No loving caress, no soft spoken words
no tangible afterglow!
Next time you rest your hand upon a doorknob
it is possible you might find
letting your hand linger there,
is an act from you most kind.
D’jaevle, I love it! I wouldn’t call yours a warped sense of humor, but a good one!
I will not be able to open a door again without wondering how I am touching the knob.
You are a fucking dorktard, and I love you all the more.