Salome

Sordid Salome,  
the veils you wear 
and se'en divest  
lie on the ground  
like macrame.  
Dances redound  
a man impressed,  
but I know, dear,  
you're quite blase. 
Panache and flair  
are mere pretense.  
You do confound 
during foreplay, 
but, now, compound 
rues on your breast.  
Rues overbear. 

Reviews

[zainul]

Wonderful work