One night

His apartment was filled with ancient artifacts,
there was a bar
and a crisp set of green seats, they needed reupholstering,
on the veranda. He was ubiquitous that evening. It 

was like lightning dancing fast upon a placid, naive village and he filled me
with rapture. We pulled,
we moaned, we moved and in
that monumental stage of bliss.

I had reached harmony with my ego.
We were both agreed, for once, in the pleasure
of another being.
We were compatible in lust for another object of fascination. 

Though my ego and I knew,
as we crept from the bed and redressed,
that the enchanting urn of quiet
would end the following dawn.