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Demurely dependent on the hanger,
it might remain a wall flower in the wardrobe,
but she knows the black jersey dress
has been designed by the Devil.
Gliding on over the body
it strokes breasts, brushes bum, smooths hips.
An augmented Eve skin,
winking with the promise of what lies beneath,
leaving everything to men’s imaginations.
And after leggings and jeans,
its caress is an aphrodisiac,
so she sets off into the night
with an apple in her hand . . .