Courtesan

The touch of his skin,
firm and hard, yet soft,
smooth textured,
a paradox beneath my fingertips.

It feels like death,
cold, a void,
nothingness seeping
through the warmth.

My crushed lips,
savouring your kiss,
an echo of desire lost.

He wished
I was more passionate -
a yearning unfulfilled.
In my arms, lovers feel safe,
a refuge they seek,
but not vice versa.

My lovers noticed my distance,
a chasm between bodies,
whether fucking or kissing,
a disconnection, palpable,
a shared silent lament.