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Image for the poem Modern Gold Rush

Modern Gold Rush

She slips into a map
a perfect grid
for my mouth
to feast upon
every inch of leg
slipping off
the stilettos
beginning
at the soles
of her feet
the pattern
guiding me
ever so carefully
across the mesh
advancing higher
my tongue
across every acre
closer
and closer
to gold.
Tenderloin
Written by Tenderloin
Published
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