Beautiful Poison

I just love the sweet smell of wine lingering in the air. As the scent is being carried by the sensual, sway of smoke.
Woah, gives me the chills.
It twirls and spins, giving just a small glimpse of its hypnotic dance then vanishing in the night air like a silent lover.
I call it the beautiful poison, pretty to look at but not too good for your health. Sounds a lot like women, don’t it?
The way they capture you in their gaze. A stare that can rival Medusa’s.
Small frame that trails down to her big hips, with a set of lips to match.
The ones that just get your blood going when they move, and your pants just get three sizes smaller and you’re squirming in your seat, hoping she doesn’t she that you’ve pitched a tent in her honor.
There is an even bigger rush when she says those magical words we all search her. Fuck me. And my reply. Don’t mind if I do. I say with the tip of my hat. All gentleman like and what not.
Having a dame to yell my name every night is all well and good but I’d rather stick to my beautiful poison. It’ll kill me, but it won’t touch any dimes and pennies I got left to my name.