She sways

A glass of whiskey, a cigarette soft music for company. The witching hour has arrived or am I one minute ahead. The light hits the whiskey glass illuminating the amber glow, thoughts ponder from here to there like the rain upon the roof top in rhythmic solitude. Imaginary images of a sensual feline appear within the Smokey haze...Her hips swaying gently to and fro--a deadly smile filled with mystery, yet ever alluring. Free spirited, yet she's mastered the art of flirtation-an illusion to those none the wiser that she can be captured. I pity the fallen. What a mockery they must have made of themselves.. With each puff her image slowly sways to the rhythm of the falling rain the pace of the clock hands one step ahead--pace she has her own. Wondering where ever she sees fit, from bathing in the warmth of the sun to laying comfortably within a box...she can't be tied down. Yet so many have tried with half hearted attempts, they tried, they, failed . A sudden grin upon my face as I realise their gullibility--they followed their over confidence yet to be met with a lifeless gaze, none threatening, no ill intent just a simple "sorry but this is not what I meant." So like dogs do and how dogs are they slowly walked away with their tails between their legs, egos hurt... Whiskey trickling down my throat, a slight satisfactory sensation...Yes there's more to her then the normal eye can see. For all they see is what they want to see, that of which she allows them to see, but I for one surely know that beneath those sparkling eyes of wonder of intrigue, there's a deeper being, a thrill for the hunt a thrill for the unknown and yes perhaps that of security of wanting to be overthrown. She hides it well, a lady she's like, always keeping up to her standard. So within the circles of my smoke her hips sways keeping me company as the music plays.