War is love, and diplomacy is the true

Art of war. My diplomacy distracted you.

Let’s not pretend love isn’t war.

Love fights peacefully—the fighting is what love is for.

Unable to fight the human race the way you really want,

My helpless, vulnerable love was great to tease and taunt.

War and love can equally contribute to fame.

Chess? Crime? Poem? Love’s the best thinking game.

I won, didn’t I?

You know, that I know, that you know, I won.

There was no violence, no battle cry.

Fighting you in love was a great source of fun.

We elevate blame to war, in love, and elevate war to blame.

You get blamed for the broken heart.

Blame is the essence of war, love—and art,

And the art of love and war are the same.

Some will say: What a loser, to think in love you can “win.”

And there is no winner; this is true

If you look at things from their point of view

But I don’t care what they say. This poem is meant for you.

I won, didn’t I?

First, you were my ally.

You thought you could win with me.

You were right. I adored you. I wrote you poetry.

“By the gods of love they shared,

By the gods of war they dared.”

This was our motto, which I wrote for you.

(It’s not Latin, but it will do.)

Our hiding places, many. Our kisses, never few.

But this is not a moral tale. I’m a lover taunting you.

This is what the best muses command their poets to do.

Love, like anything, demands a fee.

The payment was kisses—and poetry.

Even determined war needs its muse,

Just as martial music is a variation of the blues.

Love and war, at their best, amuse the crowd with news.

Love and war are vistas: clumsy, and wrong.

Diplomacy and poetry are the hope, as well as mathematical song.

I won, didn’t I?

This is a poem. You can’t reply.

Yes, that sweet refrain,

The source of all pleasure, the source of all pain.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

A healthy poet’s yell, divine, cunning, insane.

I won, didn’t I?

You know, that I know, that you know, I won.

Because I’m here. And your thoughts aren’t done.

The ally is everything. Eventually, you chose another entity—

It doesn’t matter who or what—over me.

There is only one difference between war and love, but it means a lot.

Love asks permission. War does not.

You didn’t ask permission when you left.

Diplomacy was all I had, bereft.

I made diplomatic calls, but you ignored

Every single one. Were you in crisis? Or just bored?

It was impossible to tell.

During our love, I never knew you well.

You were not about the feeling, but the sell.

But you never lied.

And once when I held you, you cried.

I learned about love from you. I learned it very well.

What a war it was. The other entity

Had to be used, and I used it exceedingly well.

Mine was a diplomatic coup.

It satisfied me. I don’t have to guess what it did to you.

I won, didn’t I?

Then here’s a song,

Since you cannot look me in the eye.

A pity! The kind, the nice, will attack you.

Please don’t let my love distract you.






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