I am the matchbook
you shove
under a wooden leg
to level the table
you use
as an idea factory.

I get down
on all fours
to prop up
a mirror that magnifies you
two times larger
than you were yesterday.

I have a delicious power
you wish
to taste.
Stick out your tongue
and say
anything you want.

What you thought
would be sweet
turns out to be
hot and spicy,
slightly bitter
around the edge.

No rasp can touch
these legs
I use to run
through reflecting pools
and invisible waterfalls
in the dark.