Cross-check

She was a babe to bring brains lesions;
a dame to die for, dressed to kill
what moved to move minds to the ‘bin –
all swayin’ to the sultry sound of trumpets
like God gave her those goods to fill
His monthly measure meant for sin.
She sauntered by on stockings stretched for hours,
then firmly fixed a finger to my lips
and leaned to lecture lowly in my ear –
all, “It takes two to tango, dear.”

And I was dancing with the Devil.

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