painted eyes

she was never afraid, but you trusted her face

she was never demur, with that pocketed ace

she was never a daughter of what seeemed to be grace

she was always a trap wrapped so gently in lace

she came with her need, but her crush was her heart

you were never a land she would sadly depart

her mouth was saliva, was blood, it was hunger

in short, she’s no flower, but a ravished war-monger