She kissed a married man, she didn't care.

She kissed a married man, she didn't care,
and left him looking troubled, nympholept.
How dare she kiss that man, how dare she dare!

She left her marks where everyone could stare.
He tried to hide the places, where they're kept.
She kissed a married man, she didn't care.

She chose the night to stalk him, better fare,
and kissed his neck, his legs, all while he slept.
How dare she kiss that man, how dare she dare!

She came in through the window, without flare,
then touched upon his skin, and slowly crept.
She kissed a married man, she didn't care.

The skin upon his cheek, his legs, was bare,
for often in the buff he calmly slept.
How dare she kiss that man, how dare she dare!

His wife slept, so this kiss she wouldn't share.
This tiny-legged insect was adept.
She kissed a married man, she didn't care.
How dare she kiss that man, how dare she dare!

(C)2008, Christos Rigakos