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Jun 2013
My city's face is blemished
by the clogged pores
of black asphalt
and motor oil.
Her naked, metallic body
repeatedly burns from cigarette
ash dropped upon
sidewalk cracked lips.
Her teeth are disjointed metro rails.
Her hands stand arthritic and proud,
balancing skyscrapers on
broken finger tips.
Breath like
black smog
she coughs blood
and inhales the broken
english of her immigrant workforce.
Yet when I get the chance to bed her,
the city and I become one
continuous concrete paradise.
I gently kiss her and tell her that she's beautiful.
Joshua Martin
Written by
Joshua Martin
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