Night Buses

Night buses come and go: the watchmen crowd
With night-shift cleaners and those girls; Each waits,
While women, freed of beauty, are allowed
To tut as sluts tug clothes to mitigate
A long night's disappointments: they have been
Through lust-filled moments: now tired thoughts ignore
Perfumes which clogged men's senses: it would seem
Pearled necklaces will distract eyes, before
They're due to travel down to skirt the edge,
Where love-bruised thighs meets cotton cloth; the itch
Was scratched enough, without having to dredge
The memory of shadow and varnish:
These can assume new meanings, when you're drawn
To crowd with them on buses, before dawn.