A drunk man condemned to wander in his head
with a recurrent lady taking the show, lost in London streets, lost in the dungeon of her lips,
what's the gentleman duty when her neck implores
the mercy of his breath? what's a lady's correct behavior
when her inner impulses supplicate more
of their unspeakable affairs? make the step, come with me
they knew the indiscretion, but trees can't speak
maybe between walls they can live.

a bottle of his favorite cognac, a reminder
of his impure beliefs, the more he dives into the bottom
the more he Remembers every mistake, "never allow yourself to get smitten by a laurel dress"
he professed to the bartender.

let's run away, no One will ever know, they knew the indiscretion, trees can't speak,
but a maid surely can do.

what was once a lady,
is now crumbs, after being the meal
of scrutiny, at every tea party
She looked onto society eyes only to find out
the magic of their nights turned into a centennial curse
she Called it an infatuated situation, only if they knew how long it lasted
and how many things she asked.
© marsea