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