| what I did with my desire | |
| what I should have done with my desire: dressed it in socks and long underwear put it to bed to sweat it out torn its page from my calendar used it as a bookmark in a romantic novel wrapped it in plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator threw it away after three days needlepointed it into a heart stuffed it with sand and used it as a paperweight chained it to my desk and made it do my filing erased its message from my answering machine what I did with my desire: unbuttoned its blouse, uncrossed its legs took off its glasses, loosened its hair untied its tongue let it murmur your name dressed it in satin taught it to tango sent it traveling over your body without a map and with no itinerary sang it to you in familiar music added a new refrain | |
| Elizabeth Ingraham |