Casual Hunting

Homme fatal,
the universal lure,
so many waiting arms,
how to choose?

Honey pot, sweet tar,
a carnivorous plant.
Your scent wafts
an invite on the breeze.
Come on, a guy’s gotta eat, you say.

You come with seven veils,
it’s a job, just the job,
the bitter drift of you,
the hard ardor of you,
and another heart is bagged.