Tearing his words apart

She tears his words apart and, when they're ripped
Into fine shreds, she sees there's little deep;
It is as if, by tearing them, she stripped
The clothing from his form but, now, can't keep
Her eyes off him; her curiosity
Is roused and cannot just be left alone,
(Officially and properly of course);
I really trust these thoughts won't make her moan
In all that darkness, when the finding force
Majeure demands she must respond again,
Intrigued, ready for war; she's piqued anew,
Let words slip by, quite softly, as a rain
Of pithy answers rips once more; she'll rue
The day she raised her eyebrows and was spurred
To cut and tear and shred his every word.