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Dishwasher
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
