THE POET TO HER YOUNG COMRADES 6

How do you love in hiding? On the run?
When every hour is precious, how begin
to talk of love? When there’s a war to win,
your deepest intimate a well-cleaned gun

For hours you practice taking it apart
putting it back together. You can’t learn
lovers like that; you’ve not the time to burn
learning the way to stimulate each part

take them to bits, then snap them into place.
Guns only ever talk to those they kill;
you have a need for conversation still,
or heart grows steel. It’s there in your cold face

Worst tyrants sometimes from best comrades made.
So risk it, fall in love, at least get laid.

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About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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One Response to THE POET TO HER YOUNG COMRADES 6

  1. Wonderful, even before the rofl of the exasperated last half-line.

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