Fake Empire

A man sits on the top floor
The detachable lift
Shaft unsteady
Waiting on the bill
To weigh down his heavy brow
He stares out at the dusk
Settling on dessert
Spoons come
With a hostess
Muscle memory
Badly etched
A fake empire
On the serviette
Etiquette, wiped away
Collecting plates
He offers to help
But a well-spoken gent
Begs that he never takes
The steps down to the
Locked doors

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Fake Empire

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