Serpentine curls of the softest silk
Roll across skin the pallor of milk
Like carefully pealed persimmon skins
A hint of the fire that burns deep within
Her eyes, I’d surmise, now they are the prize
That baffles the bold and outwits the wise
Clouded with kohl, a touch of nightshade
Emeralds so rare that none would dare trade
Beware of the smile that bids you come in
This is a contest you simply can’t win
Lips laced with sulphurous cinnabarite
She kills with a look, she never need bite
And while your wounds you gently nurse
You realize things could be worse
But the only wish in Casati’s heart
Was to be a living work of art
