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Aftertaste
I grasp the helm,
My substance sucks satin.
Hurtling to zenith at scalding speed.
My mind is a fastidious whore.
Paradise is choked by weeds.
My art forfeited to want,
I died at the fount of creation.
Intellect enslaved to the sinner.
Manipulated by the device of vice,
The gourmand sits down to his
dinner.
© Mohammed Miah. 2003.
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