Poetry you sufferfrom being caressed by bumbling fingersunaware/uncaring of the skilled lovers in your pastnever seeing how you recoil into a dark shellyour delicate feathers tightly bunchedNever seeing you prayfor the marauding night to endPoetry you sufferat the hands of pimpsand yet you blushto the delight of your true loveswhen they come across your lifeless format nameless brothels