By VINCE WHELAN
So beautiful, the Temptress’s veil.
Which shrouds the skin of imperfection!
Which lolls against, as a cunning mirror,
a disguise, we follow, in misdirection.
So sinful, this wondrous bloom,
to all whom rest upon her petals!
Which strike the eye as a loving gesture,
But mimic deeds, which are the Devil’s.
So marvelous a female being,
which blight seems so attracted!
Lest we love, or lust alike,
we find, our image, yet, refracted.
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