Shrine
To see and ignore,
a tedious chore.
To beg and implore
for lust evermore.
To relish the raid,
to bask and fade.
The saliva cascades,
drank by the brave.
Cracked tiles,
withering grout.
Path through the trash:
a sensible route.
Down the sidewalk,
behind the pines.
A secret little shrine.
Not mine,
but that's fine.
Copyright © Samuel Durant | Year Posted 2014
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