The Dribbler Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

Trickling down an answer
in 3 installments
is unbecoming,
which reminds of a story
of which I won't accuse you
but years, like many eons ago,
a gentleman visit us.

He & his wife sat on our
Victorian period couch
including original silk cushions.

I don't exactly know
which of them but upon departing
one of them left a humid spot
which I thought
was some spilt white wine
we drank at the time.

A few days later
the sofa seat yellowed,
then whitened,
then simply disintegrated
in the spot where he sat.

I knew it wasn't hers
since she was way past
any monthly happenings
but that old geezer's spot
stank to high heaven.

I won't make a poem of this
but if you ever visit anyone
you better write your answer
not on any love seat.