Le Voleur

(i)

 

We met at Roy Castle's record-breaking soiree.

You were swimming the backstroke

in the world's largest punchbowl

when I came in through the Luxembourgish windows,

fully intending to rob the place.

I took one look at your lovely face

and the Luxemburglar in me

remembered he had an appointment

on the other side of town.

 

You climbed on out of the punchbowl.

I lit up a free jazz cig.

You asked me for a towel.

I gave you Norris McWhirter's wig.

 

Syd Little banged a gong.

I came on hot and strong.

You stoked the fire of my desire

over prawn vol-au-vents.

 

Derek Griffiths sang a song.

Heads or tails, was I right or wrong?

I took a chance, took off my pants

and we danced till the milkwhite Dawn

Frenchwindows told us to go.

 

 

(ii)

 

We went back to your mock terrapin

St John's Wooden cabin.

I didn't know what to expect.

Hunting trophies adorned the walls:

the head of a giant stick insect

and Bully from Bullseye's balls.

 

You worked very hard to set the right scene;

create the right atmos (tha knows what I mean):

some sensual music to set me aflame,

rose petals and candles and lots of champagne.

Then by dawn's early light

we made love to Barry White...

 

...he didn't like it much at first

but after an hour he joined in.

 

B.R. 11/01/2016