By jill (jills@wam.umd.edu)
Date: 29 November 1999

Additional Thoughts

I say I am not in love,
Yet I burn and shake like a leaf
In a fiery, crackling flame. 
I am stung sharp,
Hit where it hurts most, in that soft center.
The one you somehow got in to,
Like a naughty child, playing around with the clorox
And the polish remover and the dishwashing detergent and making a 
Terrrible chemical reaction, bound to be the death of me.
Bound to have me making great salt lakes on the floor
When I stick my thumb out for a lift
To see you whizz by.
I forgot I was not supposed to care that much, but I am 
Hit hard, unable to move much besides
Up against the glass that I erected in honor of you
And to keep control of me.