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in a purple silk teddy. Her legs are too thin,
her own chest flatter than I remember, and
a thick layer of makeup barely disguises
sores. Monster sores. I chide myself
to slow down before I end up with sores.
Or here.
Unlike Her Apartment
Robyn’s room is neat.
Guess perverts dislike
having paid-for sex
amidst piles of clutter.
Like everything else here, it’s pink and gold
and sparsely furnished.
It smells of old sweat
and cheap perfume.
Robyn locks the door
and we sit on her bed,
just like in the good ol’
days. I’m pulling grave
yard so we don’t have
to hurry. Anyway, the
manager is a friend.
That’s how I wound
up here, in fact.
She tells me how she
met the guy, how he
talked her into “easy”
money, working in the
“entertainment industry.”
As she talks, I notice
