After Luncheon

It's cool and cosmopolitan they say:
the Café Royal lies on Nelson Street.
My collared bitch will wend her wicked way
among the crowds to kneel there at my feet;

The all-day bistro menu has such fare
as niçoise and a rocket tortellini,
with basil and tomatoes. By my chair
she'll suck and see if she can taste the blini;

Or sense seared salmon in the sperm I spill
into her eager mouth, while I devour
the headlines of the Echo. Let her skill
go quite unnoticed at this busy hour;

It's cool and cosmopolitan, I'll own;
but leashed delight is better fucked at home.