the room
after the man I want
has swallowed Germany
and France
I’m allowed back into the room
he’s quiet as any creature
after such a meal
too sleepy to fight with me
I’ve been looking forward
to a scrap all week
but he holds me at bay
steaming in his wicked sleep like a sauna
he’s mine, fruit o’ my tongue,
my weal and woe,
but maybe I don’t want him now