Scribbles

She pivots and floats from the Alfas soft leather seat. Her long legs hang temptingly from her mini skirt. It would be a wise man to guess forty, Through the champagne haze of a wanting flirt. She offers purrs of affection for each delicate touch She lies while she sighs and hell it pays big bucks, Fifteen fabulous fakes and a moan, For One Twenty Five. She gambles on our moral disgrace. Us where all is based on Der Leibe. She serves satisfaction as a simple dish, To the ever hungry desire of you the man. She cares not that she is used and living a lie, Neverending till the the sunrise Climbs high.