Quit saying let’s get curry. Don’t you know
I don’t eat coconut? I have to watch
my waistline, and besides, there’s always the chance
of shipwreck, scuba honeymoon gone sour,
whatever strands a lady. Think of me,
skeletal and lowing in some cave,
unwilling to eat the island’s only fruit
because I’m sick of it from all the curry.
Is that what you want? You’d rob me of my sole
salvation, try to damn me with impatience?
If we were the last two hotheads on this earth,
I wouldn’t sleep with you. Nope. Not at first.
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