I, a soldier
a one man army of the union
of testosterone and passion
I am dangerous
I brandish sharp looks
sharp tongue
weild them with humility
strike deliberately
She, a guerilla fighter
capability masked
in a warm pleasant smile
her body says it's happy to see me,
that it is a pleasure to meet me
by the grace of God
the pleasure will be mine
I collect thoughts
jumping to preconceptions
of a sweet wenham girl
whose daddy's blessing i'll never recieve
A conversation
diplomacy with bright eyes of eager disposition
my weight rear-foot
weighing my opponent
I boldly proclaim 'you should take my number'
At which further diplomacy may be made
She answers
standing tall, not intimidated
acknowledges my bravery in the line of fire
We meet on the battlefield of sheets and pillows
wide eyed and bushy tailed with her head on my shoulder
I push my luck
the battle ensues
bodies collide
culminates with no clear victor
two panting quickly
exchanging pleasantries of each others performance
the spoils of war taste so sweet
A mutual retreat,
a worthy adversary.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem