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
She likes a little sweet
And new meat
Sorbet a particular treat
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.

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