Messiness

I hate it when,
long after my guest leaves
I go to my bathroom
and realize there are dirty knickers
lying behind the door,
in a pile, in the corner,
on the floor.
Bugger, I say, and bloody hell.
Guess it still went
pretty well.
For even as I write this,
The taste of
a first kiss
still lingers, still warm
on my lips.