Courtesan

The reflection shows
She smoothes
her stockings higher,
runs her fingers
up her legs,
laces her skin with black.
Intimate assurance
clothes her
silent intent

One last glimpse
at the soul in her mirror:
she softens the eyes
to hide a heart.
She knows just when to run
a single finger down
the lines of another mouth,
when to catch her breath
and meet other eyes

But time returns reality
Maybe her mother was right:
maybe she is just a lowly slut.
She unlocks the door
into her solitude,
tear underwear from skin,
free the reflection from her heart
in his memory
where her soul found her mate.
An unfinished teardrop stops midway