Sunday Service
Her dark eyes, sultry and steamy
Flashed a sideward’s glance
From beneath the black lace of her Mantilla
He gave her a browse
A more appraising look altogether
Her eyes flashed up again
A lingering languid glance
Which spoke of her muliebrity
Not the putative girl
They were now the cynosure
Of each others eyes
No words were spoken
Everything was intuit
With amative study
And libidinous perusal
She his object of pulchritude
He her beloved inamorato
Then they had to separate
And the spell was broken
Until next Sundays reunion
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