Lets be in love for just tonight, you said,
When I had better things to do in red
High heels. Encircling your big bad bed
Like scouts around a campfire, ahead
A ring of muscles pressing us instead
Of sense, misplacing wits, shoes shed outspread:
My map, your body. Folded up: my dread.
If you have any comments on this poem, LindaAnn Loschiavo would be
pleased to hear from you.