Today, a song:
My darling, as I nuzzle
you close against my cheek,
a little bit of fuzz’ll
brush me – oh, that’s what I seek!
Floccose, tomentose, floccose, tomentose,
I love those mementos,
those little downy furs,
be they its or his or hers!
Tomentose and floccose, tomentose and floccose,
not crispy like tacos,
so fuzzy and so woolly,
you know they thrill me fully!
I find your fuzz so succulent,
so esculent, so poculent;
I hope you won’t be truculent
if I dare call you flocculent!
Floccose, tomentose, floccose, tomentose,
how to represent those
little hairs that cover you –
oh, darling, tell me true!
Tomentose or floccose, tomentose or floccose,
packed all chock-a-block, o,
say are they flocked in tufts,
or groomed to go to Crufts?
Your surface so tomentous,
it gives me such momentum –
it would be so momentous
if you’d give me some tomentum!
Oh, my darling, your fuzz gives me joy beyond belief;
you know that I could nevermore turn over a new leaf.
No flat tomato, you; you chloro-fill my heart with glee;
you put the beau in botany; yes, you’re the vine for me!
Sesquiotica 