Le Chien

Napoleon, I love you shamefully.

With your pony hair, with your steel buckles,
with your faux medals that click as you walk.
I have pulled my hand from your mouth with a red cry:
blood on the snow, your mouth a sill of ivory,
my blood on the snow—yet I love you.
Want to read more?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.