I keep staring into Eliza’s eyes,
keep rubbing my lips against her lips.
In this city, going to her
is the only way out.
At least for someone
as unemployed and jobless as me.
Eliza’s asking price is very low,
just twenty euros.
For twenty euros, a woman,
a woman’s body.
The condition with Eliza was,
no penetration of any kind,
only external touch, tongue and lips.
Or mutual churning.
And yet,
Eliza.
Lays herself bare,
entirely undressed.
Removing, one by one, all her undergarments.
And
stripping away everything of mine.
I am astonished, again and again.
Even prostitutes, once penetration happens,
do not kiss the lips.
And yet,
Eliza.
Kisses my lips,
draws me into an embrace,
as if I were the lover of her hundred lifetimes’ devotion.
I lose myself,
now a lover,
now a customer,
running my hand
over Eliza’s breast and her sex.
And yet,
Eliza.
Remains, to me, a streetwalker,
one who can be had
for twenty euros.
And yet,
Eliza.
Asks five euros more when leaving.
On condition
that next time, ten euros
will settle it.
I keep staring
into Eliza’s eyes.
With an ocean of longing in me
I see, there, only emptiness.
No.
There is no love there,
no desire there.
No love.
No lover, no
desire of a man.
I go back,
carrying the despair
of failing to be a lover, or a man.
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