of young maidens who weave webs of deceit.
Once a fetching such lass found me in need
and spun her spell on my heart’s last retreat.
Her kiss like honey was sweet with desire;
sugar flowing slowly from her tongue soft.
And her hands down my back’s length did aspire
as she lifts my last dollar from its loft.
Identity stolen, lust is dismissed
Bank account broken, betrayed by a kiss.
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2010