She is a place of pilgrimage,
for washing soles of the
faithful and departed.

She's an aquatic mirror, where
silhouettes are corrugated by
the ripples of repetition.

She is a web of confusion,
waiting for the universal
congregations of curiosity.

She's a stalagmite of creativity,
an iceberg of deception,
an illusion wearing stilts.

She is a tantaliser, an ******,
a bewitcher, who solicits her
suitors by enchantment.

She's a concubine she's a femme
fatale she's a fresco and her ****'s
a jeune homme called Unesco.