[i]L'amour est enfant de boheme,
Il n'a jamais jamais connu de loi...[/i]
She was a master puppeteer:
Chiseling out men's hearts as if from wood,
Stringing them up and suspending them like marionettes,
Manipulating them at whim, setting them dancing when the curtains rose-
Love was but a show to her.
How she reveled in the dance of spindly strings and fragile puppets,
The romance and the chaos,
The irony and tragedy,
She felt like Aphrodite
But they called her [i]viper, wayward woman,
Whore.[/i]
They couldn't see that it was her only art,
That it was all she knew to do.
[i]...Si tu ne m'aimes pas, je t'aime.
Si je t'aime, prends garde a toi![/i]
