Tease

She’s a tease.

The femme fatale disease.

Gaming with sultry eyes surprise.

Rose lips of fast lies.

Moaning ecstasy in sweet cries.

Throbbing sex lullabies.

She’s a tease to best please.

No sad begging of cheap release.

Call her out, she’ll flagrantly deny.

No longer look you in the eye.

© Natasha Sinclair