There's a certain formalism in these things
When she is willing, or even keen, she strips
the flowers from her hat and scatters them
upon the treacherous back step. For him
he'll try to get her attention, by reading, silent,
in the outside loo. There's other things they do:
she smokes a cigarette -- some hours before
and far away -- which weaves faint smoke smell through
her hair; he moves her chair an inch, no more;
she wears that old torn dress, that still a bit
reeks of sweat and other fluids. He picks fights
over small things. She invites him to fuck off,
cordially. Eventually they will both hit
upon the same room, mood and time, and minks
would blush. Usually ten minutes is enough.
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