This is a bit egotistical perhaps, but I wrote a poem for a World Lit II assignment years ago, and I simply love it. I present it here mainly because I need a more humorous piece to balance the darker ones I've posted already.

The assignment was to write something in the style of the French Symbolists (e.g. Baudelaire and Verlaine). This group of poets believed that everything had beauty, even something as disgusting and mundane as roadkill. It had beauty because it was part of the natural order of life - it fed bugs which fed birds which fed mammals, etc. Of course, there is a lot more to Fr. Symbolism, but this bit explains the title and perspective of my poem.

Festering Sore, Part 1

I avoided driving over a dead armadillo;
I didn’t want my tires defiled.
Then my mind turned it thoughts to this peccadillo:
“What if my love were that roadkill so vile?”

Would I find your lost handsomeness so very attractive?
Or would squashed bones and flesh make my stomach revolt?
Would ruptured intestines leave my passion in ashes
As the pleasure once found in you quickly turned cold?

Can I love you through the roadkill-like days
When I see only vile rotting flesh in your place?
Do I only love you when I have my own way?
Can this feeling survive a Michelin squashed face?

I don’t know -- just the thought of that roadkill decaying
Is enough to revolt and crinkle my nose.
I promised to love you through sickness and well-being,
But I never said I’d love you while you decomposed.