It's a wonder that snails reproduce
when their being is likened to sloth-sin.
Friction behold: they crawl on mucus
searching for another to create their kin.
Light pulses guide, nothing like heartbeat.
Hard whorls on soft bodies reach out sticking
and clinging like flour to raw meat.
The courtship of two to twelve hours is ticking.
Soon slimy, stiff flesh will be struck
by a violent calceous love dart
that has cupid's acute ability to fuck
one up in the side; an unfair contact shot.
Only then, once the sluggish jab is done,
will the exchange occur; what fun!
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