Airaly

Beautiful black hair, That doesn’t age, Impeccable lips, That can connivance God to sin, She’s sick, The room spins as she moves her hips, She does not accept roses, but poison ivy, To match her soul, she wears ivory, In caged, She is the lion who eats her master, untamed, Sun swallowed, pupils delighted, skin like Novacane, She clocks the rooster, And joins to howl with the wolves, Life starts at night, Owls the nightlife, Her legs shine as she walks softly, Waiting for her prey, Eat or be eaten, Death is fear, Being eaten is death.