long, striking dark hair,
framed her inviting brown eyes,
and weaving a snare,
foretold of impending demise.
Spanish music,
rhythmic dancing,
diners clapping,
dancer glancing,
from under long, striking hair,
in my direction,
the face perfection,
her commanding dance steps,
striking down on stage of wood,
bare shoulders, castanets
and secretly understood,
that her flowing dark hair,
and enticing Spanish eyes
would weave a most sweet snare,
bringing my most sweet demise.
I don’t know… Though guilty of it myself, more often than I would like to admit, I usually despise the word sweet in poetry, and even generally most prose I read. Too much of a cliche, and you use it twice in the end–supposedly, the most crucial time in a poem.
I like your other stuff though 
thanks underground man. right you are. good call.
hmm…was looking for a word to juxtapose with demise, you know? it’s a surrender, a breach of the castle walls so to speak. but a welcomed surrender.
i’ll rewrite. (or maybe just move on to the next one).