Mierda lured Mosquita,

like moth to flame,

garbed in deceptive caca,

feeling no shame.

Poised at the brink,

he flexed his brawn,

camouflaged his stink,

soon all her strength was gone.

Oblivious to mentiras,

she buzzed into the bowl,

landed on her ass,

and couldn’t let go.

Intelligence escaped her.

She lost her heart to him.

Sitting then atop the turd,

her vision was rather dim.

Mierda clipped Mosquita’s wings,

extorted his targeted prize,

left her without a song to sing,

then swatted her aside.

She returned time and again,

clinging to her dream.

She vowed he would change,

but mierda always stinks.