Ode To The Queef

Oh how I giggle,
When I feel that tickle,
It’s hard to be subtle,
When you’re blowing a bubble.

Not from your mouth,
But a little further south.

Sometimes when you walk,
Your southern lips like to talk,
A tiny hello,
From your bff below.

A goofy puff,
From your muff.
Don’t be shy,
It’s just your whispering eye!

Some may shame you,
Or try to blame you,
Ignore the naysayers,
Queef on,
Pink trumpet players!