Loneliness Poem by Cherie Mort

I can still smell her perfume on my fingers
I can see the ebony silk of her shoulders undulate in a dance
I can hear the deafening music as it blasts loudly into my ear
I can feel the nylon smoothness of her dress as she suddenly presses me to her breast in a hasty embrace

It's all a game to her, a little give and a little take

She made her rules very clear when we met
As long as my wallet had cash, she'd keep me company for awhile
She wasn't looking for a permanent friend
Just a paycheck for her entertainment
I could hardly blame her for wanting stability
But all I really wanted was a hug that could make me feel, if only for a moment, that I wasn't so alone

Plenty of people you're forced to get along with will give you a hug
But a genuine ''I really do care about you'' sort of hug isn't the type of hug you'll find there
Nor is it found in the arms of a one night stand
Or a woman who wears perfume and dances as she lip-syncs to her too-loud music on a stage higher than the heels of her high-heeled boots

It's almost ironic how her name coincides with the feelings I had after stepping out of that hollow shelter
The way she mimicked sympathy tugged at the cords of my heart,
And though it begged for the mercy of solitude she would not give it
For she was paid to make us smile
And she was trained in the arts of grace and seduction, to use them to achieve her goals, no matter how minute

Yet to find my own beating aorta caught in the crossfires of two hair triggers, hope and sadness, was unexpected
I had hoped that maybe I would have learned by now to detach my emotions from my actions
But all I seem to find are strands of misericordia knotted into my heartstrings with a meaningless hug