At the nape of your neck.. my pale fingernails linger in thin curls..
softly pressing you into my cheek..
your ear to mine..
around my shoulders you rest..
tender grazing on soft sheets..we wrap each other..
we hold and console
carefully concealing one another..
tightly safeguarding…
At times, I am underneath you.. hiding and retreating, guarded, kept warm and protected
At times, I become your wings..stretching myself wide on top of you..allowing you to float..to relax..to drift
We take turns lifting each other
We take turns breathing for the other
Tender kisses blend with sour tears
pained and silent
………..we make love
While the walls are crashing to the ground
While bombs are blasting and shots are firing
amidst screams..
………..we make love
While fires are burning and corpse lie uncovered in the streets
………..we make love
with shell casings at the foot of the bed and war ravaged photographs on the pillow
………..we make love
with a black-hooded victim huddling in the corner; dawning torn feet and lacerated hands
with orphan children crying underneath the bed
while the floor boards are rattling and the earth is shaking
while the Regime is at the door and the sirens are wailing…
………..we make love
with hundreds of gas-masked covered faces..peering through the windows
………..we make love..
Desperately revolting against the hour
Fighting minutes by seconds to reclaim lost innocence
The ticks tock louder..and then… The Bell tolls…
(Times up)..with angst we face each other
I leap from the bed onto bloody execution stones..
grab the pistol, posters, banners, and bullhorn..
He grabs the vest, machetes, rifle, and phones..
….a blown kiss..and out separate windows we fly.
“The Revolution WILL NEVER be Televised”..just whispered through the hearts of the TRUE REVOLUTIONARIES.”
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