Against the Wall

  

The crypt coldness 
of the alley walls 
always bothered her 
even more than
the bad breath 
of her furtive clients.
Her thin shoulders 
were bruised and scraped 
by the bricks, 
as the speed of fiscal passion 
abraded foreplay.

Her working clothes 
were a hentai fantasy; 
short, with slits 
and scoop;
and a mile of leg 
disappearing 
into leather micro. 
Her eyes held that look 
of reflective knowledge 
found only in the better work 
of a few Dutch Masters.

The mind-place 
she visited while working 
was an old friend 
from a lost childhood:
a place to which 
she continued to be drawn, 
even after learning 
her test was positive.