A Sexy Siren's Red Dress

The siren of sex, when called upon, Needs no theatrics, no need to cease. For pleasure, she lives ever in sight, Capturing presence, day or night. The air of innocence, the touch of danger, To keep them close yet remain afar, But beneath the facade, truth lies, That beauty fades in the blood of age. To maintain power beyond the years, She must learn more than her equals. In Homer's tale, the siren's cry, A warning to sailors, to resist. Yet, they draw them with their sweet song, Testimony to the sirens' eternal life. Always their song, even in shadows, resonates, Reaching towards the heavens. Myth and fable, most potent dream, The allure of the siren, eternal stream. From Aphrodite's eternal grace to Marilyn's, Their power remains in every embrace. In the humors that as shadows move, The siren weaves her mystical secret. With caprice, she holds them at the threshold, Promising her sacred power. Beauty, sharp and acute as a weapon, Capturing with scent, sight, and splendor. Makeup and dress, her clear armor, To delight, to enchant, in the dark night. Not just a pretty face, but more, An allure that is hard to ignore. Her voice, a whisper, sweet and deep, Words like melodies, even after death.