Unveiled

A strip club: we're as far from seven veils
as time's uneven passage would allow.
Our Salome's though not quite nine inch nails
are keeping Herod's focus on the now,
by threatening his face as her waist ripples,
their crimson polish barely a shade lighter
then these large, mesmerizing mother nipples
mere inches from his tongue; soon he'll invite her
to the champagne room, where, he has been told,
he'll be allowed to suck them, though the guard,
a man absurdly huge, big bellied, bald,
did warn him that he cannot bite too hard.
He's not quite sure, although he's heard it said
that if she likes you, you can ask for head.