The blush drips and dries
On a face so shocked, bitter and yet sweet
He sits in the puddle of her arm, thoughtless, cries
In face of his defeat
What feature has she that marks
The perfect form, the elegance
It assaults the senses, shakes the core
Yet in the same instant, it’s the most sweet fruit
The most prominent feature of Siren senseless
Is the way she promenades, restless
She knows the turmoil she causes, and in the face
She offers man the only embrace
He knows not, but now who does
What he wants, the illusion of tinder and bile
In a sleight of hand, she gives and retrieves
Simultaneously breaking and mending
Her voice is a call through the smoke
Piercing the fog, the grating and acrimonious fear
I hear her calling in my dreams
That sound, elegant in shape, my dear
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