I will slither my venomous tongue
into those tender ****** ears
until my intent is well and hung
after bottles wash away fears
my genteel words only a facade
to feed my carnal desire
my affable countenance only a fraud
to cross the threshold of your attire
tonight we will worship fermented grape
my little maenad
in ecstasy my hands follow the shape
  of your curves, driven mad
my charm
your curse
my arms
your hearse
when the sun shows his face
I'm but a ghost
your conscience defaced
my next egotistical boast