Clothed in red satin she slid into bed.
Satin betrayed by the silk of her skin.
Cursing the quiet, "Play music," she said.
Wailing and whining, a green violin,
Defeated by envy of her pure sound,
Tells us its jealous of her sexy shape.
But melodies fade and she's not around,
And love she tells me has made its escape.
Must I forget that Scorpio spirit?
Need I ignore how I thirst for her charm?
Double edged wit that cuts when I'm near it?
Or kisses so quick they daze and disarm?
Like that violin, I was easily played,
And not unlike satin, slightly betrayed.