I.

I wept between the bed-sheets
where we made love,
         we made war,
though both were fair.

I wept between the bed-sheets,
but the first wave is parked close
between the monoliths that
raise the carport,
so time is short.

I reinforce my battlements,
build pylons of pillows
don vestments and scents
of war:
            Of sugar and lace,
            No armor, no mace
            can unravel you
            like I do.

How I unravel you.



II.

I lay between the bed-sheets
Under the weight of your body.
the price of war,
            I lay stinking, soiled, sore
            between these bed-sheets.

My lace is torn,
My sugar scent
now the brine that shines
on skin, on cheeks carmine,
Divine! Could you be mine?

I lay awake. I wonder:
Do you tell stories
of conquests and glories
upon our battlefield?
I guess it’d be fair.



III.

I wait between the bed-sheets,
for the phone monotone alarm
before a light switch dawn.

My kingdom lies in ruins,
The underlay overturned
the pillows collapsed
into the doona, but, perhaps,
My worst:
The enemy sleeps in my camp.

I wish he was my hostage,
But I am the Prisoner
in my own lands.

Tomorrow, or today,
I will rebuild.
Tomorrow, or tonight
He will tear my walls down:
                We will make war,
                We will make love,
                both are fair.