This Muse

This muse is a babe in a satin sheath dress 
Pinned with diamonds borrowed from the night sky 
Silky voice threads a song through your ears 
Come dance with a lady tonight. 

Her calling card just says "midnight, candle, and oil" 
Lipstick is come-fuck-me red. 
This muse is a Chicago gang whore 
And her price is always in flesh. 

Rhymes over reason Rhythm under pulse 
Don't even think of escaping her mood. 
Dance with her Pay heed to her 
This muse is a babe in a satin sheath dress.