The Table in the Corner

                           

      The Maitre D’ always kept that

      table by the window, screened by greenery,

      free each Friday for them to

      kick back after their long week apart,

      marooned in the world of work, their mutual

      love and lust kept bubbling with

      texts, selfies, words whispered,

      promises of acts performed once their

      other appetites were sated, their

      waiter often aroused by the bouquet of

      panties passed from pussy to pocket, a

      glimpse of nipple, the business of

      hands and feet in their

      not-so-subtle struggle to

      keep the table firmly between them.

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am indebted and whom you should visit)