What’s beneath the icing that melts?
What’s beneath the house that crumbles?
Like fuel to the car,
Like wings on an angel
Indeed, it’s the bewitching configures of a female being,
blessed is her anchorage
Who’s hidden thoughts do you seek to descry?
There’s a genie in the bottle
There’s a woman ‘tween the shadows of her peers
forced into being of something she isn’t,
To dine with the devil
Devine wine please speak up
Revive or perish,
Lambaste in thorns
She’s loosing herself in his horns
Urges to be free but never makes it to an open gate
She tries to be like the rest but dogfights alienation vis a vis mates
She grasps that the world is flat and she a rolling stone.