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Click hereShe walks the night, it's hot, it's sweaty there
In dark corners. The commerce of the street
Goes on when other businesses can't bear
The stench of economy's dying beat.
When men can't thump their chests for all to see,
When frightened for the treasure they have lost,
When masters lose that thing that sets them free,
She's there to ease their pain, but at what cost
To family, to reputation. How
Can ships be righted bumping in the night
Against her loins? Does the mirage allow
The fool to think that this will make it right?
The chase makes powerful men think they're kings,
But she knows better. "Tragedy," she sings.
finding your voice Anshul? The only suggestion I have is put the breaks in, see what it looks like. A block of text, looks too much like a block of text, so unless you have a reason for it to look like a block of text...see Baudelaire.
On reading your sonnet, I couldn't help but be reminded of the Spitzer affair. Married men in business and politics alike seeking solace in places other than at home...
"How/Can ships be righted bumping in the night/Against her loins?" with one strong image you do more than in several lines of narrative. Please do more of this kind!