With apologies to William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a perfect shave?

Thou art more coarse and more vexatious.

For when a smooth and gentle touch I crave,

To choose you o’er my shave seems quite fallacious.

And not to be the bearer of bad news,

But sometimes what you say can cut and burn.

You care but little when your words abuse

And ignore and not my bleeding skin discern.

My razor, on the other hand, is kind,

With creams and lotions that caress my skin,

And blades that, though their sharpness may decline,

Will cheaply and correctly trim my chin.

For too long I’ve been love’s unlucky slave.

I’ll find another girl with my êShave.

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