ISIL
I whisper je t’aime.
You shout hate.
I hold hands.
You hack them off.
The stain on my tablecloth is wine.
Yours is blood.
I bare my throat for a kiss.
Not a knife.
Strap children to my chest.
Not explosives.
Shoot pictures.
Not guns.
France
Once we were at war.
At Agincourt.
We cut off your fingers.
Saluted you with ours
Paris
Where I’ve loved.
And been loved.
Walked along your river.
Climbed your tower.
Sipped your Champagne.
Dipped in your river
Ogled your cancan girls.
Haggled for your Impressionists
Winter may be bitter.
But Spring will return.