She smelled like cigarettes
And the way the yellow street lamp sparked bright on her yellow teeth almost made him shudder, keep driving
But he didn't care, he wanted -no, needed
It
Her
Needed to see the back alley dust in the creases of her elbows
Needed to feel the visceral pull of
Skin on skin, fingers twisted in hair
To feel he was alive.
She tasted like cigarettes.
She never was able to kick them
Wanted a pack a day but could only afford
A smoke every 6 hours
Every 6 hours, like clockwork
Stumbling through the back door,
Desperately reaching for a light.
She counted herself lucky that her only vice was smoking
(the ******* the corner opposite had a
nasty coke habit)
Yet he didn't care what she tasted like,
Just that he was tasting her,
Feeling her,
Drugged on the way her eyelashes caught the light and the way her breath
Rasped the slightest bit when he grabbed her hand.
He was a regular, got good treatment
She knew to treat him good, don't complain
Still she couldn't help but feel degraded,
Worthless when her face was pressed to the ground,
Focusing on breathing and trying to shut out
His little gasps and noises as he got what he paid for
Still she couldn't believe where her life had gone,
On her knees, ignore the fact she was
Half an hour late to her smoke break, because she was here making a living.
She can only buy her cigarettes because  
She knows *** sells.