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.

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