The Russians Sing All Night

To fall in love to the sounds of war
loving from bomb crater
to bomb crater,
stopping only to watch the planes above.
The type of love that makes you forget
Names
Religions
Creeds
Sins
Race
The only minefields that exist lie within.
Though the world is filled with screams,
yours will be the only one I hear.

Images of mutilated bodies
do not exist here
because in love bodies
are only worshiped.
They are Gods
we being lucky
to have inhabited these two
Unintelligible bodies
to hold
and hold
and hold.

Bodies weren’t made for burning
Bodies were made for
Breathing
Dancing
Falling
Touching
Loving
Singing
Fucking
Dying
If you’re going to burn,
burn with passion,
burn with longing,
burn until you combust
climaxing with liquid fire.

The only war that matters
is the war of the thighs.
I dare you to be louder than the guns
I dare you to explode
I dare you to tip-toe

through my mine fields
I dare you to
STOP
Think of only this
Hands
Arms
Chests
Necks
Lips
Heads
Legs
Butts
Genitals.

Be loud
Be quiet
Be soft
Be hard
Doggy or missionary
1 partner
2 partner
3 partner
FUCK
Fuck until the sirens stop
Fuck until the soldiers come
Fuck while the city burns
The Russians can have their songs
I’ll take your body.

Let it be like fire in your veins
Tearing you asunder
With the hands of creation
Let it be love.

“What if we were to die tonight?”
asking the trees of Hiroshima.
Those brave trees
with all the weight of the world
on their arms.
Would anyone search the wreckage
for our bodies?
Will they mock us
for embracing in this time of war?

Ring the colonels
The soldiers
The citizens
The pilots
The politicians
Tell them,
“The Russians sing
and we fuck.”

Put up a fence?
We’ll climb it
Shackles only make us want it more.
There ain’t no wall high enough,
no war brutal enough
to keep two bodies apart.

“Bring me love!”
I yell to the riot police
“Bring me lust,
The catastrophe of Cleopatra,
The scars of O,
Bring me a hand
on my thigh.”
Hold my head close to your stomach
as you cry
for all the bodies unclaimed by war.
I’ll let you cry
and say nothing
Only sing a hymn
or two
of your beauty.

Don’t you see?
In the laws of man
We do not reside
Two angels simply passing by
No weapon
No slur
No cry
The Russians sing all night
and so do I.

 

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