I never like it hot.
I only like it cold
Heat brings friction,
irritation ‘tween my folds.
In summertime I wipe
Forever do I wipe
Constantly ‘tween the folds
but always I smell ripe.
As I wiped one day
I came across a bump
Poor little critter died in there
and rotted to a lump
So they’re always covered
And constantly cleaned
So none of Nature’s friends
will die there in between
Reminds me of the time I found a cheerio I lost a decade ago……damn, not too stale either.