Dashing, charming,
full of foolery,
She unwinds with legs of poison
sitting still on top the table,
seeping deep into my mind.

The image stains the flesh
and how I wish I could undress
the bottle of her sickly cyanide.

But taste testing pills and potions
made to drowse and **** the roses
are not nearly as sweet as implied.

So I admire from afar
oohing and awing at the bar
staring at the glass
and not taking a bite.