“If My Lady would indulge me.” He bows smartly at the waist, his pampered palm outstretched. Every rule of decency demands, I must elegantly accept.
His spit shine and neatened whiskers a blatant effrontery of couth, as ill intention sweet as succor slips, past lewd lascivious lips.
I smile through risen bile, endure his heated breath upon my nape. As stripped of everything but, title, all propriety be damned, I do as desperation dictates- and oblige- this deplorable ilk of man.
dread of derision
erases all decorum
It’s been awhile since I participated in Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday #synonymsonly. This weeks words Grace and Style however fed right my recent obsession with viewing all six seasons of Downton Abbey in their entirety- again- and I just had to try my hand.
My word choices have been italicized.