Autumn. Bombs fall. No one has any fun.

Autumn. Your sister’s husband leaves for Prague

 

and she moves in, sharing our affection

and bed. A city under mountain fog

 

and war-time curfew. “You see how she is,”

you say, pulling her panties to her knees,

 

guiding me in. “It can’t be helped.” Her fizz-

slush-gush sound nothing like far-flung volleys

 

of gunfire. Autumn in Stepanakert.

Rockets pockmark. Bombs fall. Drawing closer.

 

Drawing near. “Yes ts’av yem sirum.” She boasts

of a constant pounding. “Make sister squirt,”

 

you say. “This way.” We three ghosts. “Make sister

cum.” It can’t be helped. We three horny ghosts.

][][

notes:

Stepanakert is the capital and the largest city of the Republic of Artsakh. As of yesterday (10/29/20) long-range Azerbaijani missiles fell on residential sections of the city, striking a maternity hospital and children’s center. In Armenian, «Ես ցավ եմ սիրում» (Yes ts’av yem sirum) translates into, “I love pain.”