“Sometimes love is stronger than a man’s convictions.”*  
– Isaac Bashevis Singer


1.

There are wars, and rumors of wars—  
machineries, machinations  
of singular dark days,  

and clouds that hang  
like props above our city.  

We shut the windows,  
refuse to watch their play.  

Hungrily, we take refuge  
between each other’s legs.  

How comforting it is  
to love without armies,  
without tanks,  

without generals of reasoned love.

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2.

There are wars, and rumors of wars—  
machineries, machinations  
of singular dark days.  

From the narrow street, they see us  
wrestling with an angel—  

the tug of limbs, the tangle of hair.  
You whisper low,  
your seditious talk of love—  

as my callused hands get caught  
in your low moaning—  

while I hold you down  
to the bed,  
my captive.  

The occupation has begun—  

your occupied body,  
my country of ardent prayers.

---

2.

There are wars—  
machineries, machinations  
of singular dark days.  

The soldiers are leaving for the front.  
Not us.  

We stay behind,  
to wage our war  
of tenderness.  

They leave this morning.  

Applaud their sad theater—  
the warships, the planes.  

Soon,  
letters will arrive  
without them.  

A few men will return—  
gaunt, less than before—  
with more silence,  
less dancing.  

And when they do,  
our war will have ended  
under a flag  
of white bed sheets.  

Only a little blood.  

Victorious,  
we’ll write love letters  
on each other’s bodies.