/so much is transacted for one hundred-and-ten quid than a mere offering of a body... mostly bypassing the medium of conversation, dating, and minor "concerns" to nibble on infatuation... for one-hundred-and-ten you can also buy a mute tongue, let alone a tender butcher authority... which is worthwhile when listening to people talk as if in reverse... and the talking can continue on and on... and you relieve yourself with the thought: and thank **** i'm not into any fetish to be found on an asiatic spices spectrum... a cold shower prior to engulfing a smaller body... that persistence of: lips like a leech on her part... and also that check for bones using teeth... for one-hundred-and-ten quid i gained a pure, hour... the entire social stratum disappears... people still talk... but they tend to talk into tin cans, kicked about in alleys seeking deeper resonances of an echo... i bought a mute tongue and bypassed all the theatre to... oddly enough: know what to do with the lotus of flesh... no point holding to all the baggage other people have invested in... i'll admit though, when she told me the names of her children, the place where she was born, and her name too... i don't remember... she wouldn't remember mateusz konrad and ostrowiec świętokrzyski either.

incels?
oddly enough there was
a public house in the teutonic
capital of marienburg,
           visited by monks...

only two nights ago...
         at the turkish brothel filled
with romanian women...
    
we held each other, kissed,
    and barely minded other parts
of the body,
       she didn't even want to use
the tongue when kissing,
but i asked dipping it on
    her bottom lip,
      since she didn't reply with her's
we returned to
  the leeches and mint:
   old school hollywood...

    the four men prior to me
during the day?
             not much of them left
in her to look
as she did into my eyes
and fiddled with my beard...

so we lay like that in dimmed
crimson lighting,
    listening to the ticking clock,
christopher young,
le trio joubran,
           prokofiev...

   oddly enough no fifty shades
of grey encounter...
          it was only because
i forgot the last time
    my hands held life
so intimately on the only altar
worth sacrificing prayer
onto...

         not the first time i walked
from these abodes
without having "relieved"
myself into a rubber dangle...

although rarely has it happened
that a ******* had
no qualms
      over kissing...
            but she wasn't the first
to break the orthodoxy...
        i guess i've become known
to this public house...
      she said that some 70 passed
through the doors,
      of which...
                  i can deem to have known
about 10...

         hell, it's nice to touch
a human body like that,
             esp. after a 2 year period;
it suffocates the tongue
and...
              if you know
the body...
      i guess there aren't that many
words worth using...
      
   and i've come to trust only
the opinions of prostitutes...
   this one said: you're nice...
a ukranian, long long ago said:
you're a good man...

               you can't exactly be lied
to... when both parties
         are standing naked;
telling a lie when naked
     would be like performing
                theatre in mime.