His Coq au Vin Extraordinaire was spiced
and hot, the fire lit, the champagne chilled,
two dozen oysters bedded down and iced,
the table set with red rose-petals spilled
across the cloth; his vintage silver gleamed
with wicked flickers from each candle sconce.
He checked the lot, ensuring that it seemed
an exercise in staged insouciance.
He’d shaved his shadow hard against the grain
and scrubbed his tongue, all ready for a taste
of someone young. He kissed her hand again.
She laughed “Just like my Dad, you’re so straight-laced!”
undid her blouse and loosed a perfect breast,
and he, in Peter-Panic, de-
and he, in Peter-Panc, de--tum
and he, in Peter-Pani, detm- -esc
and he, in Peter-Panic, tumsc--ed
and he, in Peter-Panic, tumesce- .