The leftovers are laying on the plate,
it’s almost Half past eight.
The Fork and knife knightley laid,
on the tablecloth casting a shade.

On the plate there has been left a trace,
of the food from a chinese take out place.
Beneath the table a red stiletto heel,
that is probably all he can feel.

Slowly raising the glass of wine,
it’s a die and dine.
Glairying on the silver reflection,
how about he is shown a little affection.

The black hair in his eyes.
He is a human so centralized.
But once he loses focus on what is happening,
he will feel his whole life blackening.