Of outliers and exceptions,
This Jezebel of a wicked woman,
She is well into her thirties,
A malevolent spirit of amorous disposition,
A devourer, subtly ruining souls ever so intently,
The chief resident cougar of Cougar-Ville district,
A skimpy dresser, she roams the neighborhood,
Draped in minidresses she sways & gyrates her monstrous heinie,
Lust perforates her essence, her digital signature,
This filthy Jane, the mistress of vanity,
She sits precariously outside onto the terraces,
To way lay the unsuspecting within the proximity of her sleazy perimeter,
A splitter, a ‘peace ambassador’, a serial bifurcator,
A connoisseur of the geometry of obtuses,
Her stretch marks infested thighs so profoundly disgusting,
A tad higher & she gives the zebras a run for their stripes,
Woe unto that virile young man who dwelleth in this neighborhood,
She flirts, she seduces, she fondles,
All the while whispering sheepishly into his ear,
The masons and foremen feast their eyes lustfully,
The wild and wishful thinkers spoilt for choice,
They could venture northwards to the ample sustenance of her half clothed bossom,
Or southbound to the bare heath and moorland,
She is a fishmonger,
But one day she surely will straddle the wrong lane,
And severely burn her fingers,
Because who knows what other trade she is immersed into?
