Run of the Mill

"Mr. Ordinary, I presume,"
She said with eyes afire,
"Would you stealthily step to my room
To hide from eyes what will transpire
Beneath the netted curtains
That dangle to my bed
And crush the chance
That looks askance
Should paint your reputation red."

She turned and sauntered down the hall
As graceful as a cat
And he was drawn, with boots and all
Though sense did warn to stop at that
To pivot round and walk away
And run for safer cover
Than was with this lover
Most certainly today.