He is not mine and I am ashamed.
I have made him me and it is beautiful.
When the meaningless babble of rhythmic text bounces out,
I cling to him fiercely and he does not drown.
I lap up possessively the blood on his neck.
I snap angrily at the men with their teeth.
How could you hurt him? He is no honorable foe.
He is not mine, but I have made him so.
No comments:
Post a Comment