Ode to a Prostitute
7/01/2005
Our stinking clothes
peeled slowly like grapeskins
Exposing warm, wet bodies
comfortless in summer heat
pitiful vagabond flesh
blood and broken souls
screaming to relent
a helpless,
weighted wandering
of shivering hands
across pale, polished skin
filthy, timid paws
and curled tongue
and aching, bloody feet
nailed to the pine
enslaved to compulsion
Driven to the drought
of a loveless ecstacy
we plunged into showers
of hot, steaming water
and plunged even deeper
until the apex forced
the bodies apart
I didn't know she was a whore.
She never worked for free before.
posted by Edward Svengali @ Friday, July 01, 2005,
