The city is a honey pot.
Prospectors prowl pavements for that golden
shot, lured by lies of ingot underfoot.
There is always loose change. Some lost
dropped coinage from hands exchanging goods
a careless pickpocket, pennies thrown back
by beggars needing more than bronze
for habits, insatiable as sin.
Pretty girls, ingénues from out of town
suppose the world bows down to fishnet
stockinged feet. Dreaming of adrenaline
they night climb on to wilder sides,
with other high-wire walkers
on the make. And just where the tight rope
ends, barter all their honeyed flesh
for that one cold glimpse of gold.
*Funambulism = tight rope or high wire walking
Carrie has given us this high walking girl to rouse our Sunday Muse
PoetryPix 
Love where your muse took you ~~~ where so many in today’s world wander. Honey pot indeed.
the city is always a magnet – only the wise traveller should be drawn to!
I just posted my limerick, and now I see that you’ve written a beautiful segue! Ain’t life strange!
I did not know I had Bev – thanks for the enlightenment
You have captured the city life eloquently here Laura! I love this! Brilliant and wonderful!!
such poems need a good prompter Carrie 😉
“Dreaming of adrenaline
they night climb on to wilder sides,
with other high-wire walkers…” – that is awesome!
thank you – written partly in admiration of the derring-do!!
I love the hedonistic atmosphere you conjured, Laura!
a touch of harking back to London!
What’s the use of a trap if it isn’t inviting? Wonderful poem!
thank you – a good point!
Powerful and dark Laura — excellent piece!
“Dreaming of adrenaline they night climb on to wilder sides” Love that line! Fabulous writing!
many thanks Susie for your appreciation
kaykuala
barter all their honeyed flesh
for that one cold glimpse of gold
Pretty girls sometimes take risks when they need not to. Flaunt their blessings in safe situations should be the best solution!
Hank
I guess so Hank, but that was not the reality for this one 😉