Leave the glass
There is an impression
Her lips left
And a ticklish swallow of escapees.
Leave the plate
Her vegetables are
Always after 9
Her fork tines on the rim
Her knife under it
She steals silver spoons.
Yes, leave it
She may come back
After she has danced a bit
After powder in her nose
She may need to sit
A whirlwind to begin
A dervish in the end
Coffee and desert
Why
Yes
She likes a little sweet
And new meat
Sorbet a particular treat
Foreplay
The waiter brings the tray
A new meal
kisses to steal
Numbers exchanged
In a bathroom hallway.
Leave the fork
There is a morsel more
Needs to be impaled
A meal unfinished
Could become first
Course to love or less.
Fried Chicken & Philosophy 