ORES
I met them at work,
Dressed perfect for this art—
Crop tops that teased,
And curves played their part.
They were mining,
The rarest of ores—
Soft as glass,
Pure as stars.
No shovels in hand,
Just allure and sway.
Bodies bare, daring to be
The "baddies" of the day.
A man desperate to find,
Something pure, something kind.
Craving love to ease his mind,
Like a baby, unrefined.
But miners know not
To linger deep in the hole.
Once they've struck the ore,
They abandon the soul.
Leaving the earth exposed,
Erosion sets in fast.
Cultivation forever lost,
A once-green man now a shadow of the past.
A gold digger's task,
Weeks of mining, fleeting sight.
The ore uncovered,
The gold stripped overnight.
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