Clean Skin

Joel Armstrong

I hold your soft white hand in my own as we walk the street
My pulse races as I run my fingertips through your palm lines
I feel both your trust and your revulsion in your merciless grip

Our feet are silent on the cracked asphalt of the road
You see a dying, sickly weed ahead, and you happily skip to meet it
I watch in horror as you bring your foot down on it, and grind it beneath your heel
Its rusty leaves and stalk submit to your smooth skin
Its foulness doesn’t touch you; it doesn’t dare resist
You’re only being playful, but I still sweat into your hand
You’re an unbroken horse; violent and untrustworthy

You’re so clean now, even as you walk through this filthy street
I get down on my knees, and lick the tip of your foot to appease you
You grab my hair and savagely drive your foot into my mouth
I gag on your perfect skin, involuntarily sliding my tongue over it’s glass-like surface
My choking echoes through my throat as you penetrate my face
Saliva runs down your bare foot in rivers, pooling around it into an ocean of spit

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