She speaks and there's no man who'd dare not listen
Her fruit scented breath explodes sweet in the air.
The enchantment is such that all are hypnotised,
enslaved to the magnetism of what one would only
perceive to be the perfect icon.
Such innocence displayed in her bodily sway,
of that hour glass figure that has deceived many a man.
She has a propensity to almost demand,
ensnare without care.
Even the best man would succumb to this, the temptress' mercy!
She dances, her flailing arms spread east, to west, north to south.
Delighting in the admirers who stare at her beauty,
Light on her feet as her waist holds sway.
Deliberately romancing a room full of salivating men ,
who given to will would have her in their web forever.
Still there was none that would understand that,
this infatuation of such a being will never, never, be real.
For what has past many centuries ago ,
would not happen again.
Except this time of year,
the anniversary of her departure from the living.
Still yet she comes, she laughs as her curves gyrate
in rotation from one man to another
across the now crowded lust filled room.
Her long black hair cascades over her face.
Why must she hide?
What did she hide with giggling pride?
Slowly, lingeringly, she made her descent towards the hallway,
and as she moves slowly there's a mist. . . . .
A memorable mist. . . . .
A fog in which she disappears!