Wednesday, 11 April 2012
Marmite addict. Poetry addict. Couldn't resist...
I laid upon my satin sheets,
And opened my marmite jar,
I spooned the brown stuff out of it,
And spread it on like tar.
It covered those white naughty bits,
That the sun had failed to tan,
I sprawled across my satin sheets,
And waited for my man.
He strolled in an hour later,
And asked, 'what is this mess?!'
'Yeast extract,' I purred at him,
'Marmite, and nothing less.'
'Oh Barbara!' he wailed in anger,
'Loving you is tough!
You look monstrous, you utter tart,
I f*cking hate that stuff!'
I cupped my hand to my yeasty breast,
And posed an angry pout,
And then I saw the empty jar,
And knocked the b*stard out.