A Whore Writes Home
would it be awkward to tell you
how the whole world
smells like petroleum jelly
or that the latex on my fingers
seems never to wear off
to explain
that after a while
they're all the same
one more mark
in a sea of the willing
if you offer the right look,
seeming supplications,
the most brittle of vows
all for a small recompense
that's never enough
it's more than an hour
you lose
in the company of hands
that offer no shelter
Copyright © Julie Forbush | Year Posted 2005
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