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People think my job is easy
Desire takes the front seat
My hands do its bidding

The man,
Two towns over,
"He was a good guy"
I think to myself
Pushing him into the dank pit
My fingers heeding
Desire's call

The woman,
One town over,
Trying, in a desperate attempt,
To claw my eyeballs out,
Before I raise the wood handle
And send the point
To her nerve center

Used to the sight of blood,
Desire drives home slowly
And replays the images,
Relishing each moment
Like a sip from a wine glass,
Swishing the thoughts around
In its mind
And staring contentedly at its hands

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