Her Business on San Pedro St.

It was already late when
She came out of the
cold rain at
San Pedro Street.
Like a homeless cat
She prowled. Her
eyes illuminating
Penetrating more than
The lights around the city.
Her wet visage uncovers her
make-up of melancholic hues
Her sunken eyes
were like those thieves
watching over aggressively
Her nose smells
the fresh waling-waling
and the fetid odor of durian
but more likely
flesh from different men
waiting for
Her that night.
Her lips?
An epitome of
a marang fruit .
Sweet, delicious and
-tempting.
Her body?
Still manages for
Adventure, rhapsody, ecstasy and even
pain.
It’s already late.
but her life must
begin.