Dressed to kill Literally in leather
A tank top tied at the sides
Pants cut far below the naval
Flaring at the bottom just enough
Her beloved but worn boots must go under them
Thin silver hoops everywhere
Piercing in frustration was never recommended
Her nose, once in the brow, navel, nipples
Her tongue?
Two there, but no hoops
O ringed barbells
Her nails kept semi long
But sharp as hells blades
A fervent little one.
Hair like fire
An aura of desire.
Full lovely lips
Full lovely hips.
A swell of chest
She puts common to the test
Bright brown eyes
Cream white thighs
She'll never be called simple
She's too much of a pain in the ass
Oh hush, she just pushes your buttons because she can
It really doesn't have a thing to do with you
The gift of a silver tongue has always been hers
If not a silver spoon
