whatever the charge, the scarred heart followed

I used to call it like this: stun gun, flame thrower, 

harpoon, maimer. Whatever the charge, 

 

the scarred heart followed; I loved like an army 

at the brink of war—all battle plans, camouflage, 

 

shoot-to-kill, seizures. The romance, 

first tear gas, then morphine, nights 

 

of white heat, sutures, slash-and-burn, shock. 

But then, right at the end of the 20th century, 

 

in the year of the hostage, as if dropped by chopper, 

a bomb that didn't explode—you, 

 

conscientious objector, accident, rapture, 

and me, auto aim and rapid fire. 

 

Then the words I'll carry to the other side changed: 

mercy, surrender, standdown, light. 

 

Though I'm no diplomat, no ambassador 

of peace talks and treaties, I know the ricochet, 

 

the arsenal, the ambushed heart. 

I may be dangerous but I am not armed. 

 

 [Teresa Leo, 'Love at the End of the 20th Century', from The Halo Rule]