in a boat along the shallows of a drunken
moonless night and you call to me from beneath
the lamplight, trollop in a ragged dress low-
cut to showcase healthy plentitudes
of cleavage, a bosom for all to relish—
for a price, and as it should be. The world
was always about commerce. Life is the
economy of heartbeats, breaths, meals, trysts,
and other bodily equations. Who am I
to deny the world its ways? A few coins
and paradise is mine between your thighs, love
but an hour of pleasure before you bathe again
and return to work beneath the crimson lamp
to sell the wares life gave you in a drunken night.

dm pitchford