Just pretend like I didn't say anything. Nothing at all. What a naughty, naughty little poem you are. You don't even deserve a title. Or dinner. I am so disappointed in you. Now you leave this blog this instant, and think about what you've done.
Thoroughly humiliated now, the prose hobbles away, off to sulk, and its blubbery sobs affect me only mildly. This is for its own good.