By L. Leslie Shields
Date: 22 June 1998

best kept secret

eleven years ago
we frightened the bejesus
out of a school of tropical fish
off Konge Key.
Shortly thereafter,
made the deer skittish in the pines
and made a disturbance in Vermont
that they speak of still.
One night I had you
the moon rising above your head
as your neck strained
atop the highest dune in Hatteras.
Mild mannered and bookish,
hair wrapped tight on my head
they never guess at the twinkle in my eyes
that likely you put there
what burns beneath this pale skin.
The same fools look at you
and little suspect
what fire you bank, or how you bring the skin to scorching
with a touch, a look, a breath.
We've annoyed the neighbors on balmy nights
when the air is too close,
but you are closer still,
when we leave the windows open to catch the breeze---
Maybe they don't care for opera?