The Harlots Prince by Diron Bates


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Some things are sweeter in a head,
then cherries in a virgins bed.
Some roads I've walked for miles more,
while others remain rumored lore.
Perfumed hell;
familiar smell.
Faded footprints
where strong men fell.
Satin lips,
silken hair,
princess eyes,
Medusas stare.
Passion never meant to sell
was stolen from a man that fell,
and now I stand inside his prints,
entrapped, afraid,
the Harlots Prince.