Loveless

The value and position in society of prostitution has been occupying me as well as the apparently so fragile relationship between sex and love. Loveless sex, but also sexless love, are interesting concepts that are beyond my grasp. I will deal with them separately. This short poem is about the contradictory, or to me seemingly contradictory, experience of being with a prostitute.

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You take off your bonnet

And your hair spreads the smell of love

While your hand stains my bare chest.

You make no effort to speak,

Your approach is most fair;

No sweet whisper in my ear

Just the soft click-clack on the stairs.

In observation of your sophisticated

Straightforwardness – I’ve met no-one more honest –

I’m disillusioned nonetheless.

I’m so baffled by your skills

That I cannot rhyme any longer.

You are the question what love is yourself

But considering it you wouldn’t dare;

Money is your only distress.

Remaining now is only the smell of your hair,

The stain of your worn out dress.