LiteraryArtist

Third Degree Burn -- She walked in like a storm Fierce, captivating. Her hair was like liquid hell fire, Scorching her image through the prosaic club. She walked tauntingly, Inviting only those who could handle her heat And most stayed seated with their poison’s Afraid of being burned. She passed every man a passionate glance, Her pink tongue flicking across her lips inviting Asking if they wanted to play. He sat at the bar, and watched her little performance. Watching as she let everyone have a taste of her natural swagger. He wondered just how far those heel-clad legs of hers would stretch. And he didn’t miss the