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Soap Box Poets

Untitled
© by Nick Holmes

I’ll make pyramids
from the sand
of San Francisco,
the Sphinx from your table napkin,
chorus dancers of nearby strangers;
anything
to make you look at me
again.
The marble of your glance;
veins of green and blue
have made a slave of me.
A wretch
dedicated to the feel of your cloth
and the simple gestures
your hands make.
Command tasks of me
push me to the floor
in corruption.
Ease yourself onto me
and set about the work
of a master.
Beckon more of me
with parts of you that
can only command
with sweat and vibrations.
As ordered
I’ll serve you
platters of myself
finger fed
to your blood red lips
with unrelenting carefulness.
I will seek
only to pleasure you
like it is the task
of my life.
Churn your cream white cloak
into my rich indulgence.
Take me in
as your servant
and I will
humbly destroy
Every. Single. Thing.
that tortures you.

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