poetry

Lady in Red

She’s the lady in red,

Sitting cross-legged, her adventures outlined on my bed.

Neither a fabric nor a thread;

Bare her body, soaring dreams in her head

Curls reckless in black brush her cheeks, then to her shoulders they fled.

Her breasts hold the charm of a newly-wed

Inhibitions she shred;

Covered waist down in silk, many men astray she led;

Her eyes, ah the exquisite charm of the dead

Engulfed in smoke, cigarette between her fingers intricately held,

Kissing her lips draped in scarlet red

Heavens, she’s a maiden in red!

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