Patron

His hand glides roughly

up my thigh;

buffed nails rip my

cheap nylons...

I can buy new ones with

the percentage I am allowed to keep.

For some unknown reason,

I can feel the warmth of this patrons hand;

branding my inner thigh.

My fruit is ripe

for the perusal of his (presumably deft) fingers...

I accidentally gasp

as he reaches me;

looking into his smoldering

burn-sienna eyes...

Before the moon reaches

its peak in the sky,

he makes truth of my...

Previous assumption.