Courtesan

She does it for the pleasure of being essential
Not for the trinkets
Nor the treats
Presented to her with reverent gratitude
She has reinvented herself to suit perversions
A chameleon at every turn
As every man required a different shade of her
She has had so many now
She fears she has lost herself in their desire
But when he strips away the leather, the lace
The powder and the paint
She sees herself again
Blemished and mortal
On her feet rather than on a pedestal
She pauses to breathe
And commits again to serve him
The courtesan within her will always be victorious
She does it for the pleasure of being essential