La Dalliance

 
A man of middle age and wealthy cheek,
Will often use the tunnel from his chore.
That lets his mistress see him most discrète,
Pretending to be honest is a bore.
 
They both enter the suite from off the hall.
Her corset never forfeits lady’s rent,
He tussles with her bust when duty calls,
And has the dexterity of a gent.
 
The rhythmical unlacing corset’s flight,
Might otherwise intimidate a heart.
But as baleen of whale becomes untight,
His lover heaves a sigh to praise his art.
 
The ritual undressing carries on.
An ornate mantle clock expresses ten.
A quiet late night supper set at one,
The famished lovers need to eat by then.
 
The ritual undressing, steady, go.
By leaving on the garters to save time.
To deign a choice of Sir would be her woe,
He loves a bit o’ stocking top with prime.
 
There’s still her shoes & buckles & a comb,
Just as the mantle clock is striking twelve.
Sir kisses both her hands to send her home,
“We’ll never make it; IT we’ll need to shelve.”