Another dirty love poem

Having a title for the "chapbook" isn't enough. I'm still a few poems short of the ideal length for the project. Warning: this draft is not for the prim'n'proper!

Trade

Beyond the veil, darkness:
a wrist-free hand contacts
the unseen skin, stroking
my vestless chest. Someone
exhales, his breath seeks out
my stubbled nape. Kisses
of palm to arse echo
through stairwells, vault manshapes
who seek the spilt saltlicks -
I sit on boots, open
my mouth and wait. Presents
come cheap beneath London's
relentless streets: weakness
is mine to devour.

Needs a bit of work, I think, and perhaps a touch more research ...