Her eyes rose at out prolix entrance,

She muttered her sentence of welcome

And was gone,

Her fingers pulled us on.

A wine cup she filled till brimming

Installed it with silken hand

And was gone,

Her fingers pulled us on

But there’s no need here of abandoned wine

Or the ash- polluted surplus of deserted ale

To thrash our senses:

Her soft talk, velvet walk, beckoned me

To follow her silently up the stairs

She was gone

Her fingers pulled me on

The rain is falling now –

And the passion’s cooled like a summer’s night

And that’s romantically the unexpected  denouement.

She has gone

Her memory lingers on…