What I Did In The Cubicle

Head in darkness, arms are tense
With passion itching every finger.
Elation burns like providence,
Yet in the box my fires linger.

Savour every moment, sweet,
Before the deed is done and gone.
Five years before we next will meet
To see our new creation born.

For these few moments I can forge
The world anew with hungry hopes:
Of passions that no man can gauge
And lusts that you alone can coax.

Free me, angel! Let me go
To laugh at those my moment's freedom mocks.

I fold my paper, crisp and white as snow,
And slip it softly in the ballot box.

by Richard James Green

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