She

She was jealous not of me

She was jealous of herself

If another looked at me

She could never let it be

She killed a woman with her shoe

Stiletto to the heart, beatless

She killed my will, and me she wooed

She was pure, she was nude and lewd

She loved me so; her love, a gale

I loved this siren head to toe

I loved her eye, I loved her nail

I wrote her poems; she read my mail

One day she loved me, her love was strong

I had her body, her mind was gone

See, I thought her mine – behind, a throng

She whispered sweetly a sick swan song

This dame was trouble, you can tell

She fell from heaven, blackened wings

Her soft feathers like razors smell

I got it wrong – she rose from hell