I licked you cautiously with precision
Licked until your sharp edges were round and soft
Indulged in that millisecond, I let my mind wander off to the imagination of licking and actually swallowing you
Sweet imaginary drops of melted sticky sugary matter were dripping down my esophagus
You were dancing in my throat like a delicate ballerina
Tiptoeing, Floating.

Then reality hit in again and my tongue drawed back like it just touched a hot range
My esophagus felt clogged. Your pungent taste was burning holes into my throat-
So I used my fingers like a plunger to suck you out again.

I purged dark matter all over the white bathroom tiles
Tried to extinguish salty burning tears with stomach acid
You smelled sweet and savory at the same time.

I’m sorry for drowning the rest of you in the toilet.
But they say “nothing good ever lasts long enough” for a reason.
You see, love is a battlefield and I’m Napoleon.

I never knew until now,
Dear Dad, though
I listened to the stories you told,
Of War that re-ignited after the one supposed,
To end all wars, or so it was proclaimed.

You went abroad, your Varsity
Stalled, dreams put aside,
Long before I was born,
Before you met my mother or I was named.

Instead, you wanted to fly,
High above the Bay of Bengal
And the Andaman Sea,
Above the carnage, or so you said.
And that must have seemed a way to save
That sanity
You needed to take you through,
To come back and marry a beloved girl.

I watch the newsreels now,
They are old, with time and victory ingrained.

I can see you flying that high,
Himalayan peaks shining in your eyes,
Cold death above and horror below.
You told me stories, I recall,
Too young for me to imagine.
Now too old for me to hear them all.

You never piloted again
Except in your nightmares.
On a road between moon and sun
In your own history you flew
The infamous, undying path
Of The Burma Run.

Bring it on
shoot me down
use your words and prose

A bigger fool
coming round
I'll be the one to close

Lets battle it out
in fives and tens
who would win, suppose?

Your foul mouth
and vile words
looking down, your nose

Nothing wrong
opinion wise
to voice what you may feel

But know this
twits and fools
there won't be an appeal

How distant my Swabian* youth seems now.
I made a glider which really flew, you know.*
Not far, but yes, it carried me! I soared!
  
Some accused me of being a showboat,
of tooting my own horn. . . . I learned early
that the laurels don't go to the meek or the bashful.
  
Yes, I was a Nazi. Those aristocrats
on the General Staff* belittled the Fuhrer--
but where had they gotten us?
I liked his enthusiasm and optimism.
We were in a hole; he led us out,
got the economy going again,
restored the Sudetenland and Danzig.
(Danzig where Lucie and I had been married!)
  
I thought Poland would be the end
but when we attacked in the West
I didn't shrink away.
My troops and I were the very spearhead:
strike quickly; do the unexpected.
  
Who was I to deny
Germany's world-wide destiny?
  
The African war agreed with me.
The open space gave a latitude to my strategy
lacking in hilly, forested Europe.

The victory at Tobruk is often cited
as the height of genius, military.  
I, myself, prefer what preceded it:
the retreat into Tripolitania--
salvaging men and tanks, shortening supply lines,
lulling the British into complacency;
turning and stinging at Agedabia.

El Alamein: the Fuhrer and I part company.
"Victory or Death", he cabled me.
I disagreed: my men would not die senselessly.

We were desperate for gasoline.
Ship after ship was sunk trying to deliver it.
(Lax Italian security, no doubt.)
  
We were outnumbered five to one.
I favored withdrawing immediately,
consolidating troops in Europe.
The Fuhrer wouldn't hear of it.
  
I flew to East Prussia to confront him.
He'd grown pudgier, more strident--
wouldn't give an inch.
I sensed that not just Africa
but the war as a whole would be lost.
The weight of the forces against us was crushing.
The only question'd been their willingness to fight.
That had been answered at Stalingrad.
  
I fought on in Italy and in France,
hoping to convince the enemy
that the price of taking Europe--
especially Germany--
would be too high.

I really thought we had a chance
to stop them on the beaches.
But now that we've failed, our destruction's inevitable.
  
I've tried to make the Fuhrer see reason:
surrender to the British and Americans;
don't let our country be overrun by Russia.
  
He condoned murder--
ordered me to kill the French Jewish soldiers
who'd surrendered at Bir Hacheim,* for instance,
(I didn't) -- and much more. . . . And yet,
and yet, I couldn't quite bring myself to wish him dead--
and certainly never took part in that plot--
though, yes, I knew of it . . . after a fashion. . . .
Defending myself to that group would be hopeless. . . .
Lucie and Manfred must be spared
the humiliation of hearing me declared a traitor.

I bestrode the plains of Africa--
Rommel, the invincible--
always with the troops where the battle was most critical.
I was crafty and brave,
dared to act when others shied away.
I was the apple of the Fuhrer's eye;
idol of the German people;
scourge of the British military.
All the world applauded me. I lost--
but only when outnumbered overwhelmingly.
  
Now I sit in the back of this Opel*--
an outcast, a criminal--
waiting to take a cyanide pill.

We failed to assess properly
the will of other nations to honor treaties
and preserve their freedom.
And, more basically:
Were we right to force our rule on other people?

Icarus-like, we flew too high.

We were bold and strong
but it seems, in the end,
in the end, not supermen.

You can never run or hide from your greed
Twisted by your tainted hands of sins
For you are not afraid to rise your sword aimlessly

And mercy never crossed your pitiful mind
As you drown the innocent with their own anguish and blood

You have become someone your hateful soul molded
As you rise from the ashes of your once beautiful life
And destroyed the peace of the world

You have caused sufferings amongst the humankind
The world of people you once loved

Living like a demon
So much darkness
And so much numbness

You have lead your own blood lust world

you can smell it
the war
it crawls up your spine
and your heart
it beats
or bursts
as the fire surrounds you
and as you clutch her hand
look into her eyes
you can see it
the war
and you hold on
as she nods
will you die with me?
on the spot