A prostitute in
London, 1870 –
accompanied by
an assistant
loyal to her
as a dog.
She and he
just came to me
as if I were a
log in which
they might
write something
to record that
they were here.
I wonder how
I know that she’s
a prostitute
exactly from that year.
I’ll take my
glass of water, raise
a toast to
her and her amanuensis.
Nothing lonelier than ghosts..
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