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Stains
They’re worrying things
These slivers of life
This croissant so flaky
This waitress so sweet
This cafe so cosy
The twist of her waist
The ribbon of velvet
The scuff of her feet
I’m surrounded by teapots
And onion conserves
And bright copper kettles
Reflecting her curves
Distorting my vision
Like dishonest scales
As she brushes the crumbs
And the daylight pales
 In
front of my table
Unbuttons her shirt
Her lips gleam of honey
She lifts up her skirt
My writing hand shudders
No glimmer of guilt
As she sinks to my lap
And my coffee is spilt
The café is filling
She’s straightening pleats
Her boss, disapproving
Arranging the sweets
Adjusting the napkins
The kettle just grins
At the twist of her waist
And the echo of sins
They’re worrying things
This plate, these remains
These slivers of life
These cold coffee grains
Velvet ribbons drift by
With no blush of remorse
There’s a skip in her step
But I’m mopping up stains
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