Corseted Soldier

We’re laughing about the guy you shot with Wilhelminaafter he rifle-butted your smile because anything is funnywhen we’re drunk and high; and it doesn’t take longbefore my eyes cast and your kiss covenants something dire.However, tonight I cinch your ribs, compress your plateaued chest,and review the haunch protruding below dusky leather.There divots an Illinois scar. The deepest incursion smoothed, a flat,still lake like gravel in a lustrous bowl. Breath draws shallow.Zipper glints. Oh, my badged and medaled Ranger, my belt danglesdangerously near the ruinous bodice. I ask. How, do you feel?You exhale. Vulnerable.And I moth to that purple-hearted flame.