Tybalt's Chat-Up Lines

When fair in love are weapons fair in war,

Bring on the gasmasks, jezzails and lies.

Should Venus grace what Mars has shaped before,

Then call reconnaissance her ambling spies.

Court-martials convene behind staggered lines;

Nor traitors, true allies, nor tongues are spared.

Through crimson lands ride scarlet road designs,

Navvied by junkies and the lotus laird.

We, the insurgents, lunge at every clasp,

But ever look to mount the burgeoning bane:

The clouds, the raisins and the preacher’s rasp,

The cleansing of the scented chlorine rain.

Meet me beyond the trench, the coast, the height,

And I will hurt for graven hurt requite.