Paris was vibrant,
the outskirts, charcoal.
In dark corners
the women in red
lifted skirts for men in top hats.
Manon
was a demi-monde beauty,
scarlett dressed and wide-eyed,
Harlot,
They called her,
The men with grasping hands
who were always hungry.
An animal appetite
behind human eyes
A beast in a suit.
If you listened carefully you could almost hear a hint of a growl
from the corner of his mouth
The sweat on his brow
window-wiped
with a lipstick blood handkerchief
Discarded
Before he returned home to his wife.
The silk strings on Manon’s corset were
always loose,
Ready for eager fingertips,
That were too rough.
Love this one. Thanks for the “follow.” I’ll look forward to reading your posts.
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Thank you Sarah, you too! 🙂
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