cheerfulHer dark eyes consider,
kohl-tinged but knowing,
watching you as you think
you have her figured out.
As she walks toward you, swaying,
tinged with patchouli
and rose and musk,
will you swallow in anticipation
thinking her a morsel?
Her black hair shines,
and in the tinkling of her ornaments,
and the shimmer of her skin
and in the curve of her breast,
and the touch of her lips,
she will spring her trap,
and you, O hunter,
will be the morsel well tasted.
