Too good to be true

March 9, 2011
She is almost too perfect to be there
Standing barefoot in that little black dress
Swirling around her when she glides, i stare
Why do you move like the black queen in chess

You place a venetian mask where your face
Should be, where i see smoke leek from your soul
You don't stay long, you leave without a trace,
Have you really put your all to this role?

She with her mask does hid from you behind
Her secret your partings riddled with strife
For both your deception you'll pay in kind
A sacrifice most dear, perhaps your life?

Though it may make me odd, maybe no sense
I meet death amicably no pretense.

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