Angel of Sorts

Atop an ivory tower lies a girl
Soft features white in the night,
An angel of sorts, in the star filled sky
Hidden away in her tower, she
Lies upon a bed of rich satins and silks
The air thick with stenches,
Incense and amber,
Flitting candles highlighting hovering smoke
From the lipstick stained cigarette butt
In a glass ashtray,
The pungent smell of bodies and sweat
Heavy under her sweet perfume.
The men, they pay to be entertained
(Somewhere on earth, her master, he gloats
"Something for nothing" he grins
Teeth black from filthy cigars)
From deep in the dark - from the fire that burns -
The music pulses, angry, fresh
Louder, and still, faster, and soft,
Twining and writhing,
It lifts up and is lost in the air.

There on the bed, she dances,
She moans, twisting with the music that thumps
Closes her eyes, giving what they want,
Parting deep-painted lips that stain
The collars of fumbling men
With red necked lies for nagging wives,
Needing to feel this young flesh
In their thick, sweaty fingers
Young, smooth, and pure; an angel of sorts.
She watches them
Gloating, like children, at their conquest when done
Thinking with a smile how many she's had
This one dirty, greasy, no more conquering her
Than the last, or the next,
For she is dirtier than them,
She is tainted, and used;
She is the lip-stick stain
And the heady scent of amber
She is the cheap satin and silks,
She is the milky moonlight
Warped by shabby curtains,
She is the rising disease in her throat,
She is the fever
She is the death,
She is pure - an angel of sorts.