Poetry you suffer
from being caressed by bumbling fingers
unaware/uncaring of the skilled lovers in your past
never seeing how you recoil into a dark shell
your delicate feathers tightly bunched
Never seeing you pray
for the marauding night to end
Poetry you suffer
at the hands of pimps
and yet you blush
to the delight of your true loves
when they come across your lifeless form
at nameless brothels