Hang pink and languid

In the living room
a pair of panties
hang pink and languid
across my laptop screen
their owner curled up in a pool
of light reading.

I pause to consider.

It is said that one
can tell a lot
about a woman
by which room
she leaves
her lacy bits.

Bedroom leavers
are safe suburban.

Bathroom leavers
hygienic but a bit
risqué.

The saucy kitchen leaver
is likely not
the kind of girl
you take to tea
with maiden aunts.

And we won’t speak
of cabs and elevators.

But what can one surmise
about the laptop leaver?

“Why are there panties
hanging ‘cross my screen?”

“Static cling I should think.
They’re mine”

“I see that,
but how did they get there?”

“I took them off and tossed them.
Aerodynamics did the rest”

“Oh,
I see.”

I pause for more consideration

“But why?”

“It’s been so hot.
They stick and make
my ass feel huge.
Sorry if they
touched your space.
They do look kinda cute
tenderly embracing.
I think they like each other.”

So it’s come to this.
My literary helpmate
all silicon and pulsing gigabits
has entered into electronic bliss
with static laden polyester.

My silicon
Her polyester
A postmodern union.