The art of the mandible

The trick like any trap
Lies in the camouflage.
The lips the lure,
The smile the deceit.
Enamel gates guarding
A promise naked and inviting,
Giving way to a glistening
Tongue rouge and dripping passion
Before blinded by a cloak
Of black burlap as worn
By penitents in limbo.
Swaying in the dark
Like a mantis praying
In vain beheaded by lust
With arms flailing like twigs
In a cool March breeze.
A puree out of our soiree,
A meal fit for a queen.