12-21-2012, 04:36 PM
Love is War-
My father once told me that love is a lot like war
And, at first, I didn’t believe him
But you’ve had me shell-shocked from our first lip-lock
I want to march my fingers through the landmines of your spine
A drummer boy carefully patrolling, treading, dragging
his feet across each hilly vertebra to the beat of charges exploding
Detonating them one by one, by one, by one creating a growing cacophony of claymore cadence
That starts way inside your voice box and ends as vibrations I can feel shake the air like a 747
kicking up a dust tornado picking me up and dropping me
back to the first time your shaky voice said “I love you.”
Together we are camouflaged as one
Our skin burns like napalm. We become each other’s victim of arson.
Our snare-drum hearts combine to create the tempo of helicopter blade wing beats.
You can tell the way ricochet from the trail of your lingerie
from the couch, through the hallway and to the bedroom where we stay.
Switching up formations for diverse unification, lay siege to temptation,
tongues tasting each other’s radiation for moments of pure recreation and salvation.
We lay still trying to salvage the wreckage of our battle beat bodies
Shrapnel of each other imbedded in our skin so far, so deep that it won’t ever be reached,
no matter how long we dig the trenches.
You’ve got me thinking we are the lost battalion sitting stubborn atop this hillside
Fighting to pay bills and practicing our pinch penny drills
And the whole word has forgotten our forty
But that’s alright because I’ve got your six
We are starving while fighting off artillery and carving deliberately into the sides of barricades our last wishes
Wishes of tank reinforcements, flank rescues, enemy miscues, food for our famined platoon, our just married balloons, friendly cannon booms, mustard gas mishaps, “Mom, please send some cash”, bullets for our ammo stash, auxiliary infantry, correct missile trajectory and most of all just a little taste of real life victory.
Because victory tastes like love and love tastes like war.
My father once told me that love is a lot like war
And, at first, I didn’t believe him
But you’ve had me shell-shocked from our first lip-lock
I want to march my fingers through the landmines of your spine
A drummer boy carefully patrolling, treading, dragging
his feet across each hilly vertebra to the beat of charges exploding
Detonating them one by one, by one, by one creating a growing cacophony of claymore cadence
That starts way inside your voice box and ends as vibrations I can feel shake the air like a 747
kicking up a dust tornado picking me up and dropping me
back to the first time your shaky voice said “I love you.”
Together we are camouflaged as one
Our skin burns like napalm. We become each other’s victim of arson.
Our snare-drum hearts combine to create the tempo of helicopter blade wing beats.
You can tell the way ricochet from the trail of your lingerie
from the couch, through the hallway and to the bedroom where we stay.
Switching up formations for diverse unification, lay siege to temptation,
tongues tasting each other’s radiation for moments of pure recreation and salvation.
We lay still trying to salvage the wreckage of our battle beat bodies
Shrapnel of each other imbedded in our skin so far, so deep that it won’t ever be reached,
no matter how long we dig the trenches.
You’ve got me thinking we are the lost battalion sitting stubborn atop this hillside
Fighting to pay bills and practicing our pinch penny drills
And the whole word has forgotten our forty
But that’s alright because I’ve got your six
We are starving while fighting off artillery and carving deliberately into the sides of barricades our last wishes
Wishes of tank reinforcements, flank rescues, enemy miscues, food for our famined platoon, our just married balloons, friendly cannon booms, mustard gas mishaps, “Mom, please send some cash”, bullets for our ammo stash, auxiliary infantry, correct missile trajectory and most of all just a little taste of real life victory.
Because victory tastes like love and love tastes like war.