Paid For

The way she moves, magnificently strutting with a purpose

No lazy strides in red bottoms

The way she sits her ample behind

as if posing for the Vogue cover

The way her darting tongue swirls from her bright cherry lips

On her straw sipping on her Bloody Mary

The way her aromatic aura wants for attention

Having doused herself in Femme Fatale, her signature lavender fragrance

The way she crosses her curvy legs and her skirt rides up her thighs to reveal grazed knees

Thighs so thick everybody’s uncomfortable

The way the summer breeze caresses her gleaming brown skin

She sits by the pier and pets her fluffy chihuahua with her painted stiletto nails

Her back is worn out, all in a day’s work though

Still her whisky raspy laughter punctuates the laden ocean shore

She removes her Dior sunglasses  to reveal the most enchanting pair of eyes

Bewitching windows that tell of ensnared souls unwilling to escape the abyss

The way she gazes into the horizon with a grin and a hooded wink

And sighs with contentment

That she finessed the gullible and the cynics alike

Her happiness has been guaranteed

This queen’s chaff is worth more than other women’s (s)corn


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