the whore at the end ov the light

 

she was young

and more aware
ov her youth
than anybody should ever be
her stockings had holes
her make up was caked
she cursed like a sailor
and fucked like
the open sea
she sang to me
after I paid her
she was a force
a virgin,a chore
she was as brilliant
as anybody ever was
those nights I cherish
those nights were as peaceful
as eye opening as pure
as a new born
that whore was more poetic
than anything city lights ever
ever published or rejected
I wish I had asked her name.

-Alfred Huete

04 October,2010