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Click hereA lost book of Suetonius
What could he say of them, these easy women?
That their lives were comfortable or difficult,
that they were beautiful, with amazing skills
men (and women) might pay for?
It is quite something to be famous, even
if it's only you can moan convincingly
beneath some fat Patrician who has paid you
to penetrate your body.
Who will remember him, unless he's Caesar?
You will always have these voluptuous thighs,
these perfect breasts, even when old. Even dead—
for an author has loved you.
I knew there was more Suetonius to read. Perhaps the best parts yet.
I enjoyed the idea you tackled, and the last stanza was the perfect crown.
(Thanks much to gm, who picked this one for the New Poem Recommendations thread.)