#95 Is a Monarch of Sorts

I are the Dirt King

I rule over my soil

I oversee the subjects

Who are always in question

My Queen rules the clean

She of the soap and water

Always washing me away

With her loving strokes

I curse her

I love her

I scurry into every nook and cranny

To get away from her

All hail, the Dirt King cometh

On my chariot of filth

I get into your shorts

And sometimes into your mind

You can try to squeegee me away

Using wipes and Q-tips

Good luck my friend

I always come back in the end

I'm the bad taste when you tongue your lover's ear

The filth in your crotch when you try to be intimate

The jamb in your toes that smells so delightful

That mysterious stuff that rubs off your forehead

I rule by simple accumulation

My people shower me with adulation

Using loofahs and fingernails

And so my Queen rules for a time

In her squeaky fashion

But, I always return