Rented Time

The Persian rug lies under our backs.
It seemed like a good idea at the time,
a cheap bottle of wine,
a good time.
a sweet, sunny moscato
out of chintzy plastic cups.

The master keyring 
singing its soprano 
charm, 
as we giggle through
the locks and stumble 
into a rich surprise
with wide windows.

Your tinkling laugh
as we fall into
ourselves sprawling
on the ethnic
rug, royally wasting
our hours.

The lights turned low
and sultry,
we make shadows on the wall
in the house
marketed
"FOR SALE"
with your name and 
number.