I can still <br />see them <br /> <br />there <br /> <br />the merest <br />gossamer <br /> <br />your white <br />lace panties <br /> <br />in a twist <br />upon a walnut <br /> <br />shiny table top <br /> <br />like a scrunched up <br />doyley. <br /> <br />Can't imagine <br />how they got there? <br /> <br />Guests <br />all of a sudden <br /> <br />arranging themselves <br />in laughter <br /> <br />around this <br />very table <br /> <br />unaware as yet <br />of your twisted underware <br /> <br />and the tangled tale <br />that it could tell. <br /> <br />You serve <br />(always of course the perfect hostess) <br />our guests <br /> <br />hot whiskey <br />warming cold hands <br /> <br />the room aromatic with cloves. <br /> <br />Us already <br />bed warm <br /> <br />our guests just <br />warming up. <br /> <br />Oh look hot buttered scones! <br /> <br />Fresh from the oven! <br /> <br />Clutching at straws <br />I snatch <br />the wispy undergarment <br /> <br />only have time <br />to put a scone in my hand <br /> <br />your panties <br />in my mouth. <br /> <br />'Mmmm! Mmmm! ' <br />I mime. <br /> <br />'Oh look at Donall! ' <br />(you are the first to accuse) <br />'scoffing scones already! ' <br /> <br />'As if he didn't get enough <br />last night! ' <br /> <br />'What a greedy bastard! ' <br />everyone complains. <br /> <br />I hold the hot <br />uneaten scone <br />in my palm <br /> <br />it burns <br />butter drips between my fingertips. <br /> <br />'Mmmm! ' Mmmm! ' <br />I affirm. <br /> <br />Everyone commenting on <br />or confirming <br /> <br />my greediness or appitite. <br /> <br />It being rude <br />(my mouth full) <br /> <br />I don't speak <br />don't say a word. <br /> <br />Let them think <br />what they will<br /><br />Dónall Dempsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-appetite/
