The Whore

Her perfume preceded her entrée into the club.

“Buy me a drink,” she said. Nice smile, and eyes, she had.

“Do I know you?” Only spooks ask that.

“Does it matter?”

“Don’t you want to know my name?”

“If I wanted to know you, I’d have asked.”

A month later he still looks for her,

A woman of libidinous disposition she was:

For her he can splurge all the tithe, or Caesar’s coins.