Professional poem

I met a man yesterday.
He came walking over the emerald green hills of Brosarp. Like an angel, he appeared in front of me, squeezed my hand and told me to sit down. He said that he had wandered from Smygehuk, and that he had come to fart in my face.
I flinched, but within a fraction of one ten thousandth of a second, I found myself lying on the ground with his snow-white buttocks painfully close to my face. Slowly, slowly, he brought them closer and closer to me, just as close so that his sphincter almost touched my vibrating nose tip. Then we lay there for several minutes and just breathed.
And then he farted.
It was like I disappeared for a moment and when I woke again, he was gone. Sometimes I believe I see him come walking along the road, sometimes I believe I hear the sound of his warm air against my cheek.
But he's gone, gone like a wind.