Falling in Love with a Prostitute
Would it be cruel to myself
If I were to fall in love
If we meet in her room
At two or three in the morning
After a telephone call.
I’m not one to be rude
Nor judgmental;
I’m not a person of prestige
Working his way
Through sophisticated ladies.
Loneliness and sorrow
Are delicately beautiful;
Dark eyes and hopelessness
Are magnets for the depressed,
I’m often obsessed
With people sadder than me.
And perhaps, it would be best
To know up front
My girl was sleeping
With all my friends.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
Added by Poetry Lover
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