577: Doc Martens

I remove these boots,
my long-trod armour,
made in a tool-racked
leather workshop;

Goodyear welted,
as craftsmen expect;
always double knotted,
like a tightly roped lover,

that fuck-snug-fit, laced,
too knowing, too close,
until the rub is too much
for me, then separated.


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