Acts of War

This is not going to be an easy ride.


For how do we navigate our bodies through this confined space that permits

your elbow to rub against my pelvis and your leg to rest upon mine?

Is it not enough that your eyes burn with a fire that speaks the language

of my heart’s own burning and that your speaking voice

is like the steady rumble of a confident rolling thunder of a June storm?


You claim the uncontested territory between us as your own

and I am left wondering if this is an act of war or the beginning of some treaty

between the nations of our being, our bodies, our minds, our souls?

And why did I shrink and contain myself to grant you more space

when I had every right to these empty lands as you have?

I let you have that space and tried to give you more but your leg still rested

against mine and your elbow dug deeper into my pelvis and all I felt

was electricity coursing through my veins.


This is the kind of diplomacy where there is only one winner and one loser

because only one of us has something to lose and only one of us has

everything to gain.


Some say this is an enormous world while others say it is small.

I say it’s crowded. I say it’s claustrophobic. I say that there is no escape

from your intensity once I’ve seen it and I could have been spared

by a multitude of circumstances but every choice that I’ve made has led me here.

I cannot alter the past and free myself of your intensity and passion

and must now manoeuvre through the geography of our present

with as little casualties to my person as possible.


No, this is no simple car ride to somewhere.

The destination is everything now.


If we were nations, then it would be written in history that your country

has conquered mine and colonised it and I put up no real resistance

and whether I’ll be painted in a good light or bad, I will have no say.


History has always been written by the winners


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