Clothes strewn about a decorated floor, As keys were thrown, and door was left ajar. As hands, from limbs, in haste, our garments tore. The bed was near, but we ne’er made it far. The table was closer (or would suffice) And hunger had so beckoned us to dine. I’d known her taste, and it could so entice Me to devour her again. Then she, mine. But nights bear brief pleasant pleasure lasting, As mornings show a contrast rather stark. The interim will see us pleasure fasting, So for now, her lips leave a token mark. A kiss on the collar, just to be cruel, For it is lust that I am a fool.