She was a shot of tequila,

Gulped by every tippler.

She was a vase of carnations

Set on a high table,

For everyone to smell.

She was a lodge napkin,

To absorb their bodies' muck

She was a cup of cappuccino,

To calm their tactile desires

They contaminated her,

And she is contaminating,

The gullible satyriases.

Soon, hearses will be

Moving around!

©Poet Igweee