“Let’s 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.

LindaAnn Loschiavo

If you have any comments on this poem,  LindaAnn Loschiavo would be pleased to hear from you.