dues-sided coins
shadow slipping like nuclear silhouettes
and flipping-
black-edged bestiality
for the goddess head
because there is no charge for
hibiscus pigment wax included
with your leaded kiss(es).

i'll explode for you,
controlled catharsis in a perfumed plume,
like Hepburn's distanced smoke through
a paraplegic crescent of convex lips
and ripe pearls,
but I'm not the bomb.

you send your troops advancing
through my lotus temple,
preying like locusts on the incense
and the smell of Cherry Blossoms
Charred in the wake of a
personal Hiroshima,

though you would say you stooped to
local apocalypses,
(a small house fire,
and all the boys were burned)
caused a few casualties,
collateral,
and some accidental suicides,

but we both know that you will
never
win a war.