Guerrilla


I dreamt that you’d melt me.

Hot flame Tamil Tiger ice cream

Waxed weak at the knees

The smell of me crept round thighs, back and neck

You slept wet spread on amnesty covers.

I dreamt us smothered.

Costa Del Sol ETA lovers

Hot beneath palm tree streets.

A calm before a car bomb.

 

I dreamt you were home.

Bader Meinhoff sleeper,

I’d had you alone.

A four minute warning on dial up phones,

Ich liebe dich.

Ich liebe dich.

 

I dreamt I was palms down.

Stone fight Fattah sun down.

A Molotov fire and hostage taken.

 

Your friends couch was big enough for four of us.

Nepalm red Bourgeois West End

All bookshelves and cornices.

The gulf between us our desolate Dresden

Scattered with all that’s gone between.

We fill the din with ‘How’ve you been?’

Collateral damage since we last met.

A hum of Gomez

A swig of Becks

A Poker flush slicking my back and neck

Nails picking out contrary frustrations

Shrapnel of tin foil and glass.

I ask if you’ve put a coupon on.

You smirk as always.

 

In the bay window you are aloof but on fire,

Eyes azure,

Hair ebony silver.

You look hunted but glowing in the distance.

Hard calloused fingers.

Naked milk wrist stretch a familiar abyss

All ceasefires and freckles.

Cold Armalite.

You can have anything.

 

Why did I come here?

Why did you ask my round?

Like some sleeper cell Guerrilla

I don’t care if I’m raised to the ground.

 

[Victoria McNulty]

Image courtesy of: Zaynah Ahmed

Model: Nina Mdwaba

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