That’s all the talk about her
She is a woman.
The sleazy call her bitch
She know that better
So much that she has mastered her bitch-craft
She rambles around
For the eyes of men to gorge
Rendering them spell bound
She a Paradise for the eye to hike
Her long hair. Braids reaching her hips
Her ample milkshakes.
The cleavage can tell the rest
Her wasp abdomen
made to emphasize her hips
Way they point out forming her pride
Supported on dress filling thighs.
Which show out her skirt’s helm
As light toned feminine legs
The manucured toes in her high heels
Made as a fitting detail
To bring out the allure of her charm
Then her ever short short-skirts
Made not for the breeze to aerate her
But for the inferno to spread
To set the bollocks on fire
To sodden her prey with a testosterone.
To loosen the guards of self control
Its an art she has perfected.
Firstly giving herself to her prey
Like a bait in a bait trap.
Then seductively traps in her web.
Takes her catch to her boudoir.
A shrine where she slays