War Wounds

   It has taken until now
  my discernment
  to understand how I didn't really want to
slit your throat

  with your unwise heels
  stiletto madness
  takes your lottery curves, my pottering bulgings
out for the count

  whilst marry-age dawns
 blooming sons
  and dowry-clowns suck our twenty teats dry
stone-walled excess

  credit us with senses
  disarming henchmen
  tell friends in our defence their console's the latest
lion-mauled pride

  of love, hurt our children
  in distinct motions
  and distantly children/us/friend disintegrate
dis interest dead

  watery dissolved longings
  be crushed, aspirin
  fed with honey, rubbed into our battle-wounds -
our haste pastened.