(In the style of Robert Frost)
Whose bed this is, I do not know.
This house might be down on frat row;
He will not see me leaving here
To watch his morning boner grow.
My little feet must think it queer
To be tip-toeing through this beer
Before I leave, I wake and bake
Now how the hell did I get here?
He moves in bed, I see a lake
Of pee, and know it's my mistake.
The only other sight's this creep
‘Twas blacked out love that we did make.
His blankets wet, the pee does seep
Anonymity, I have to keep
So I run home whilst he does sleep
So I run home whilst he does sleep.
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