The following poem is by Anna Barrett; I'm posting it with her
permission.  C&C most welcome - I will forward all comments to her.

        I'm sorry if I go chasing
        my ghosts once too often.  If my clean
        American mind can't clamp
        my will.  Baby, your heart
        is ravenous and I'm good as raw
        meat.  These days words
        pour out of me like salt
        and I'm nauseous with desire no trick
        can soothe, least of all you.  Is it fair
        for me to love one hero, and him
        not you?  All your touch
        becomes not yours, his thighs
        always under mine, all sex now
        with him.  Can't stop it.  Even when closed
        my eyes make signals.  And if you drop
        your shirt, uncertain of my mood,
        I say stay, but can't show you that I mean it;
        I'm obsessed under our slow
        voices.  Must become
        his mistress just as you
        minister to me.  Your face shows wear
        and I bend down, shouting inside
        to put out the lights, lock the cage at last, sleep
        blessing us with our appalling
        debts to the past.  Dearest, can we
        go on separately undoing, immolating
        ourselves?  We're two people
        together laced tight
        as a wire.  Love me
        and I will hold this true--
        though you pass through me I won't let you
        fire.

                                        Anna Barrett
                                        5/24/91