When a Man and a Woman Are Alone Together, the Third Person Present Is Satan
       

The ceilings were high enough to remind us
of imaginary rooms. So, various
me I was, we were all foresty and fantails when things
went mildly amiss. With promised word-of-mouth medicine
the night bullied us about settling down just
as water weakened the gin, and now you don't know
if I'm more banshee or grace. Smack!
Went all the apples one by one. Oh lonesome!
Here, put this stone on your tongue so you don't
sound so much like lust. Say: yes. This
way, statistics about ageing become
us. I can't hear you. What? I want to crush you.
What? I have a crush on you. Oh. Then get that gown
out of storage and crack all the windows for air.

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Copyright © 2012 Claire Sylvester Smith All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission