By lisa shields
Date: 27 May 1998

rave review

damn it.


seventeen years in your arms and bed,
eleven I've been you wife,
and still that smile leaves me limp
makes me melt like butter on popcorn
and gives me the roman/russian thing.
I'm not a damned kid you know,
not supposed to think of you
every hour---why aren't we like the others?
why don't you bore me,
why don't I have tepid thoughts
more suitable to my age and station?
But no. Not with you.
With you it's roman candles still
and frankly at my age,
I should be wearing something beneath these skirts,
don't you think?