The Brothel

Lips smeared red, dark and swollen
Eyes shining black and bordered
Her hair held loosely by a pointed pin
A large red dot darkens her forehead

Hips sway in emphasized measure
Her breasts full, ride on bashful waves
Every step pattered with pleasure
Her arms hold many a man’s embrace

At the window, strutting, a little dove.
She smiles, looking over her man’s ear
Little bird do you know what is love?
Will I ever find any of it lying over here?

They laugh together, loud and mocking
Each recounting her nights so clear
Clapping out depths pained reckoning
Their laughter hides many a tear

And then she sees him down below
Swaying around, high on contempt
A face forbidden at that window
Cause for him her heart was spent

Years ago
when the sun its rays had smothered.
When she had surrendered to hell
A child she had picked up and nurtured
From the doorstep of this brothel.