Desk

At first glance it is smooth
Your hand could glide across its surface
But the glossy sheen is misleading
It is porous, rough
Small infractions scattered across a glossy sheet
Create rough texture that tears skin and snags sweaters
Its abrasive surface is peeling over the corners
Exposing a cut-down-tree
That is rougher still than its casing
Splintering in fifteen directions it attaches to its victims
And burrowing into their flesh
It seeks the warmth of concealing pores

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