deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sketch of a Femme Fatale
She carries herself like an animal
who knows she’s not an animal, not quite,
the sinews outlined with news of sin,
lined out like a diagram of it.
She wears the dress, the feathered hair,
the other plumage of the paradise macaws,
but that’s just small talk when compared
to what it is that makes the outfit singe:
a lazy but insistent need,
a daring you to make her come
and think about coming again,
which she’s not done before, leaving most men
black widowed, if not of life then of their loins.
who knows she’s not an animal, not quite,
the sinews outlined with news of sin,
lined out like a diagram of it.
She wears the dress, the feathered hair,
the other plumage of the paradise macaws,
but that’s just small talk when compared
to what it is that makes the outfit singe:
a lazy but insistent need,
a daring you to make her come
and think about coming again,
which she’s not done before, leaving most men
black widowed, if not of life then of their loins.
Published 17th Sep 2022
Author's Note
Wherein I periodically try to write like a straight man.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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