Gene's Bad Poetry

By popular acclaim, Wombat's World is pleased to present the very bad poetry of the beret-wearin' Dr. K (AKA Gene):

Dutch Mastery

The flint lighters of our souls
illuminate the stygian darkness
in the Prestige Spanish Cedar Walk-In Humidor of this worldly existence

Our souls ignite the toasted, creamy tobacco of our love
having first prepared ourselves
with the Rubber Coated Double Blade Cutter of our courtship

Nothing can clear the Romeo y Julieta Belicoso-scented haze of our love
not even the petty Prometheus Habana Crystal Ashtrays of occasional arguments
or the Ionic Zone IZ-270 electrostatic air purifier of jealousy

Nothing, that is, until the Sav-A-Cigar snuffer of death itself readies us
for a perfect 65-to-70% humidity of everlasting bliss

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Composed Upon an Overcast Autumn Morn, When I am Filled with Ideas, Hope, and Zest, And All the World's Possibilities are Laid Before Me, Awaiting the Transforming Touch of My Lyric Lexicon

This...
...
The only...
...
When I am unsure...
...
I think I'll just