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The way she moves, magnificently strutting with a purpose
No lazy strides in red bottoms
The way she sits her ample behind
as if posing for the Vogue cover
The way her darting tongue swirls from her bright cherry lips
On her straw sipping on her Bloody Mary
The way her aromatic aura wants for attention
Having doused herself in Femme Fatale, her signature lavender fragrance
The way she crosses her curvy legs and her skirt rides up her thighs to reveal grazed knees
Thighs so thick everybody’s uncomfortable
The way the summer breeze caresses her gleaming brown skin
She sits by the pier and pets her fluffy chihuahua with her painted stiletto nails
Her back is worn out, all in a day’s work though
Still, her whisky raspy laughter punctuates the laden ocean shore
She removes her Dior sunglasses to reveal the most enchanting pair of eyes
Bewitching windows that tell of ensnared souls unwilling to escape the abyss
The way she gazes into the horizon with a grin and a hooded wink
And sighs with contentment
That she finessed the gullible and the cynics alike
Her happiness has been guaranteed
This queen’s chaff is worth more than other women’s (s)corn

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