A Mocha coloured beauty, with lips of fire

a stare of bewitchment and a pair of quivering thighs.

A voice, lusty and full, whispering my name passionately.

Hair the color of Onyx, flowing like black silk.

A pair of almond shaped eyes, dark and seductive,

beckoning for me to look deeper, deeper into her soul.

A smile, devilish and perverse yet- alluring. Flashing skin,

controversial to the teaching of mothers to their innocent daughters. She listened to me play my guitar, each stroke of the strings making her dance.

Her body swaying and spinning, as if seducing the musical notes themselves. She made my

guitar’s song hers, because of her enchantment over my weak heart.

She whispered honey covered words, softly into my ear. But each word filled with sexual tension;

drunkards would sober instantly.

So that night, my fair dark mistress became my guitar. I plucked her, she sang. I felt her, she

moaned. Another romantic song for the people to listen to. I awoke the next morning, alone and

forgotten. She left a note saying:

“sweet sweet man, your love making was as good as your money. play on.”







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