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Poetry Magnum Opus

The waiter at my table


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He has the body of a god;
If gods actually have bodies.

He has the walk of an angel;
If angels deemed it necessary to walk.
And his lips move so beautifully
When he opens his mouth to talk.

His arms flow like a willow tree,
If willow trees had arms;
They move gracefully -
As if caught in a breeze -
They are his sensuous charms.

He has a chest like a pillow;
If pillows could be chests;
A place I could so easily worship,
A place I could lay my head and rest.

And I have passion igniting like flames,
If flames could be desire;
And as I write this poem
He comes over to my table
And sets its lamp on fire.

To receive love, you have to give it...

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  • 4 weeks later...

Oh, been there. Waiters, baristas, bar-backs, etc. Nice, evocative work.

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