Her eyes were smolder, Black thick charcoal, Coating her fire burning A thousand days of sun. It seems a wonder Her skin was milk, Not tanned hide From the scorch She held.
Always a lover But never in love. The idea she longed for, But to have - ended longing Therefore she never took. In dreams with pining Was her fun. The very tongue of lust, She was the taste, The desired delicacy.
Stolen away Were the many hearts Of men from youth to elder. She held them in Her swollen grin As if to say I own you. The affairs were best, No better test Than to abrade the strings of love. And when she won, (She always won) She claimed sweet scandal, *I own you