Miss Andry

Beware all young Gallants with whom thee might flirt,
For as One the Erinyes manifest, abroad in a skirt,
Akin to no Holy Trinity, this Three in One,
But a Triad of Enmities, with a task just begun.

The scourge of Misanthropy courses each vein,
A malady grown viremic now looses its rein
On the Succubus of Rancor, alluring all knights
With vows of Seduction, and Elysian delights,
To her Sanctum of Venus, and their Nemesis,
Where she worships the Gods of Homicidal Bliss.

With the Victuals of Virility she tempts them to dine,
Until drugged and soporific with nectareous wine
Prostrate they lie, afore her psychopathic ambitions,
(To give the term Abattoir some novel definitions),
Which renders her Rapturous with Euphoric Felicity,
Yet these sanguine oblations a singular eccentricity,
Butchering ardent suitors of the male species,
And chopping them all into prandial-sized pieces.

So, while this Femme Fatale dissects its latest torso,
As a Valentine-prospective we sanction her Pollice Verso.