My oft-calloused hands

So unworthy to touch your face

And yet, and yet

I am incapable to remove them

Though your soft makes my rough

Even more pronounced and vile

Never do you cringe away

But hold me tight and smile

My demons, to you, are most angelic

Tripping my speech

Yet you find my words poetic

As I do of yours.

In the blissful philanthropy of your soul

I am peaceful, happy; home

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