my hands are
flamethrowers.
i could have fought you,
but instead i produced a
white flag
and together we painted it
red.
***
all along the international date line
flowers were blooming from miniature
window boxes.
we carefully allotted ourselves
rations
but they were devoured
by the constant
changes in time.
***
your finger
in my belly
button
as gentle as
a grenade pin
pulled out
quietly
into a place
where silence rings out
like shellshock.
wonderful
no need to sensationalise my own location but am posting from baniyala and found some kind of sick affinity with your title here.
miss you, love the poem, etcetera etcetera etcetera.
xx nessa
ness!
how amazing! i hope everything is ok. remember to choose your battles wisely.
miss you too. take care.
xx jes