Anabatic (The Fart)
I come with the dust
and I leave with the wind.
Who said I didn't have
a poetic soul?
If you hadn't eaten something
extremely delectable
I would still be inside you,
gearing for a rush.
Don't sniff
or pretend disgust.
There is nothing as fulfilling
as expelling me -
that intake, outgo,
exquisite relief.
And don't worry.
I know sarcasm.
I am down with nose
wrinkling.
I even sympathize
with parental
admonishment.
After all,
I am a million mile
aromatic, anabatic.
I am a mature fart.
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