Fatale Obsession Poem by Sarah Elizabeth Clark

Wherever there's gold, I think of her hair,
And the tiny rings in her chocolate eyes.
At night I imagine the sound of her sighs,
And a tinge of pink on her skin soft and fair.
I wonder, I ask, my love, does she care?
But she never has kept a man for his cries,
She despises the feel of a love that ties,
And will flee if you try to hold her there.
No, my sweet love, does delight in the chase.
A huntress, a wolf, she fixates on her catch,
Usually tall, dark and handsome of face,
Pursuing until she hunts down her match.
My own femme fatale, obsession and curse,
I long til she loves me, for better or worse.