She walks along the boulevard,
A magnet to the eyes. Carefully done up to tease, A symphony of lies. Her name is gone, forgotten, 'Cept for late night thoughts, like smoke. And in it's place the new one, "Cat", Her master's first cruel joke. The life she leads is not her choice, The path she walks is set. A victim caught by spider's web, Ensnared by Satan's net. A morsel to be used and sold, Molded thus by force, A razor's edge now finely honed, And set upon it's course. A look, a smile, the sway of hips, A soft and throaty phrase. She crooks her finger, nods her head, You follow in a daze. A simple room and cheap hotel, Becomes a lover's nest. She bares her treasures, cocks her head, And holds you to her breast. Her gentle wink and sultry laugh, Conveys to you the lie, That you are utmost in her heart, The twinkle in her eye. You know you're not Prince Charming, Yet she makes you feel as though, The sun decides to rise and fall, Because of where you go. She awakens feelings deep inside, Not love, but more than lust. You'll stay right here, and never leave, Although you know you must. Her love is so convincing that, You wear it on your sleeve. And were it not for money passed, Your heart could make believe. For these few minutes in her arms, You twitch and writhe as one. She shows you tricks, as yet undreamed, Before you know, you're done. She'll kiss your head, caress your cheek, To lessen partings sting. She knows, "No profit in unkind", And profit's everything. She's wise beyond her years, I know, With street-smarts learned by rote. And cruel harsh lessons beaten home, A boot upon her throat. And yet, her heart is young and pure, As playful as a colt. But carefully it's hidden now, The heart's one last revolt. She prowls the streets relentless, And lives a life of sin. But sometimes in a sidelong glance You'll catch the girl within. A world of contradictions, A bedroom acrobat. This lady of the evening, This Woman/Child called Cat.
0 Comments
|
AuthorFlip Rosier ArchivesCategories |