She arrives in heels and skirt
Or perchance
In jeans and t-shirt.
‘Tis the oldest dance
Which the ignorant call romance.

The CCTV
Does not see
The deals
She seals
In rooms where the lonely sit
Waiting for “their bit
Of fun”.

Perhaps she will leave with the morning sun,
Or be done
With a quick flick
Of her supple wrist, and depart in a cloud of scent
And with a click
Of heel, leaving him to smile
For a while
Or maybe repent
Of the money spent