I shall be Carthage
To your Rome
I shall circle you
And bite at the exposed flesh
Let these pillows be our Apennines
And your love for another my Alps

You’re fair, my sweet darkness,
As fair as the first Jewish bomb
On a June afternoon,
Beads of sweat collect on your neck
And you’re dynamite
With every drop obliterating a city

You turn and turn
To watch me,
To keep me in your crosshairs
But why?
Don’t you know that our fate has already been written,
That I am to die away from you, futilely glorious?
For this is our war
And I am Hannibal.