Shaving - a poem

I pop on a fresh razor blade
Oh what a difference its sharpness has made!
It moves slowly across the curves,
Try stopping it to no avail
It leaves nothing as it passes,
not a mark, not a trail
The swish of its motion
And snick of its cut
Glad I put on lotion
If I didn't I'd be a nut
Sensitive skin my face does wear
And very prone to bleed
I bet you'd think I wouldn't care
but now I hope you see.