They come with false smiles

And through sweet stench familiar

Seek shelter within me

No judgement, just bittersweet relief

Should I feel joy?

This sense of safe haven

As I engulf them willingly?

Perhaps, as I commit

The ultimate acts of intimacy

Uproot them; degrade them

That it is only fitting

That the only thing that swells within

Is emptiness; despite

My fountain of prosthetic love

The beauty of being drawn out

I get paid money for having sex

Every night, strangers who reek of booze

Slip me cash to do various pornographic acts

And I never feel anything

We would respect or empathize

With whores a bit more

If their laments bled from police reports

Into pools of poetics

To make sponges of our hearts.

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