Tongues of flame ravenously lick
Every inch of her and everything in contact
With her is lit aflame and maybe that’s quite impolitic
As it’s inconveniencing with a tendency to distract.
Well, as beings fidget and squirm in impassioned
Ecstasy she nonchalantly goes about her business
In slow haste completely indifferent to the ‘fashioned’
Whirlpool of raging emotion she’s stirred in acute finesse
Qualities that constitute an ensemble of a femme fatale
Most of her actions defy most established forms of rationale
And presumably, she could have gone through the rigmarole
Of dressing up she’s certain she’ll slay heart and soul
A splash of color and valor
And discretion’s sidelined, she glows with glamour.