You were beautiful - every feature that of the femme fatale. Magickal green eyes peered beyond sooty lashes, and lips gleamed in the strobe lights, parting to show teeth that could no doubt bite - draw scarlet and sensuality simultaneously.
You were erotic - so certain of your power. You swayed slowly past in candy-red heels, absolutely unshakable. You smiled at me and other strangers with a lazy aplomb that acknowledged that everyone wanted to know you - biblically, or just your name to whisper, prayer-like, into a bundle of red silk and black lace.
More than anything else, you were strong.
On any other woman, the red would be too much, drowning her in sex and rendering her blushing, scarlet and scared. But lust cannot own you as it would own any other woman. You stand too tall and leash it too firmly to your purposes - you make lust a dealer in human flesh that simperingly offers you willing slaves wherever you go. You let others be weak, and wear your red like a hawk wears her feathers.
No comments:
Post a Comment