If you pull on her leg slightly lifting her skirt;
She’ll consistently remind you that you could get hurt.
She claims she’s short on attention just like a cat;
So best throw out some tricks from under your hat.
She’s an angel of mercy familiar with pain;
With the skill of a mystic that dismantles your game.
To performers as victim broken of heart;
She’s the carver of excess that could cut you apart.
She’s good and she’s bad and stays to herself;
But she keeps her binoculars there on the shelf.
He’s layered and sweetened salted with nuts;
With a curse that’s forever much like king tut.
A piece of him cares most of him don’t;
And it looks like she might but he knows that she won’t.
It’s all just diversion a genderless klatch;
Perhaps but a race that the Talley man scratched