Her panties lie innocently on the floor
Right next to where his vest is a pool
A ray of light through the half open door
A bedside carpet made of wool
His belt hangs sadly, silver buckle gleaming
From where she took it off and threw
It dangles from a chair; clinking, redeeming
As a portrait of a man watches them in rue
Her red high heels, pointy wicked heels
Grin from where they lie near the bed
Moonlight bathes the bed in slivers and peels
Shining on her raven-locked head
His shirt lies rumpled, sad and forgotten
Thrown on to a floor cushion sitting by
For this was their night of hope begotten
The room resonates with his ecstatic sigh
Her bra holds on to dear life
As it swings on a polished bed post
Lacey and feminine, it seems to connive
White and frilly; a disembodied ghost
His trousers on a settee in the corner of the room
Wonder how they got to be there
The soft aroma of her lingering perfume
Diffuses through the calm night air
Smiling up at the ceiling, his shoes
Are glad to be rid of his feet
The carpet on the floor merely looks amused
As the bed shakes in passion and heat
The night is warm, the room is burning
An inferno as it duly ignites
The once neat sheets are jumbled and churning
Through the scorching midsummer night
Clothes and possessions scattered all around
Watch silently as the fire catches on
Consuming heat and love, the sound
From the bed on which they lie upon
The night is young, and so are they
The scattered clothes will serve as proof
As the passion flares til the break of day
The shoes and the panties watch aloof
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