Exotic Dancer

Don't call me beautiful, I don't wanna hear it.
Call me shameful, call me cheap. Call me whore.
Such an animal; I see the dirty way you look at me,
those sawdust brown eyes rudely owning every inch.

Sublime curve of hip, breasts heaving; I can feel
your obscene thoughts from here. The heat of them
is penetrating, just the way I like it. My lips part
as the scent of sex fills the room and my heart
finds a backbeat from the stage at the Pink Pussycat.

Stand over me the way a man stands over a woman.
Let me look up at you. That mean look
hardening your features; those rough hands
clenching a tight fistful of curls.

Sure I was young, but I was never a little girl.
There were strangers, serial fuckers, scouting
for my damp danger like a sea of grass.
Take it, mister, just take it, if you're man enough.

I'm pretty enough to dance for an honest man,
and dirty enough to be loved.


(Photo:Sherry Britton)