denting the dither cast by my flashlight
sparkling there, spotless by my standards,
a golden sheet of paraffin, untouched by dust.
Not wanting its malleable, sinewy luster
to fade, my hands explored the din surroundings.
"Paraffin," I thought.
Usually not a big deal.
I stray from the feign image.
It's cobwebbery catches the curious black fly.
Under what circumstance am I endowed
the rights of the hero?
To tear away with no regard
for worth or sacredness--
and reveal and arrest that which
is protected by intrinsic temperance?
However, feeling light of conscience,
I sidle to the prize.
My eyes' wanton fervor sully this place.
But, I gotta see.
Falling,
I grab for the glowing golden tape.
I wear this wax as my new skin.
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