Witness the audacity of this female,
always well shorn, sleek leather shoes,
as she slides among the gathering
concealing covetous plans and schemes.
Flaxen hair, silken voice ,
slip from her with effortless charm,
as she makes her way around a room.
Never at peace, addled when alone,
her anxiety, her poison, latch on
as a spore might onto cloth,
finding your moist eyes
and entering there,
riddling you with doubt,
a mistrust of those you knew before.
Her treachery is tied up
to your self-esteem,
proportionate to your ego,
the sting of that truth,
she doesn't let you realize,
while seducing vestiges
of your remaining earnest style
with her candid chatter and décolleté.
Beware the art of this woman,
her graceful fingers, her perfumed wrists,
her round breasts,
to wave you over
like that Siren’s call,
a youth knows not her skills,
a man in the fourth decade should.