There She Would Stand

There she would stand, ready for a kiss. Her lips wet, those lips which cling to the skin when the touch dies, her nostrils go wide when desire strikes, her body is made for love, as all bodies are. She knows that, she is happy with that.

Her man will come from the corner, no longer the professional the world knows him to be. Sweating he shall be, and without wiping, he would come straight to her, to strike iron on the hearth, that is ready in anticipation, that is ready for another prevented purchasable act of reproduction.

Stunted, she would say of other women, whose bodies were their objects of pleasure, and yet they coveted their flesh to be pristine, for her, desires knew to beholder, it was open to admiration or admirer, and she would open to either with equal delight, be pleased by either. Undisclosed were her intentions, though never beyond the ability of mind to decipher, to unravel, but she would often go so much as to proclaim, that the boundaries were the limits of mystery and once they were objectified, the rest were designed to follow. Her glance was not an act of magic, an act of invitation would be more appropriate, for with that she wanted the man to commence and not venture for the undefined. She was unusual, she was real.

She would stand in the corner, and most men have admired what they could see, but none carried her home, all wanted their home to give the experience she gave. The wielder of desire knew all that, and she also knew, the horizons of that man’s life has forever been pushed beyond the scope of his mind, and his search for a scope accommodating enough will lead him back to her, where it all began. She had power over men; she cherished to acknowledge it, but said its use shall make the entire pursuit unworthy, for that is what happens in the world.

There she would stand, calm, her mouth parted as if she is still cherishing the last kiss, no men could bring to his mind the identity of the last man who kissed her, and they all were him, at least in their mind, more importantly, in hers too.

And they made love that night, and the night after, and so many more nights, she and her lover, though they were not two people, but, somehow, they always were. There, in love, making love.

(Image : Prostitute By Brassaï)