Prostitutes walk the street
And clash with white birds in tropical flight
Does this lend a purity to their gutter blood?
Or are they saints in corrupt and glamorous disguises?
The wind must speak their true names
Velvet panthers in the moist heat
Heavy curtain of sex
Falls upon the town in a warm wave
Surfers slowly lay their heads back
And are baptized by their girlfriends in the ocean
Advertisements
