A dark man with a darker smile
Holding out a single perfect rose
His fingers, cold as snowy dust
His eyes deeper than the darkest secret
His voice whispers sweet temptation
His cunning tongue guarantees damnation
The smell of risks and want and fear
His gleaming teeth are much too sharp
But his words like snakes, like desert wind
Smoothing away warranted fears
Replacing it with foolish reassurance
You cannot resist his spell
You take his icy hand
The rose smells of death