In the year of the pestilence,
in the time of the puppet government,
we fell in love.
We held hands, and gamboled
as others doubled over and died.
In the year of the pogrom,
in the hour of the public noose,
we were giddy,
and grateful for our milky corneas
our couplings, and our luck.
another starry-eyed love poem for flash 55.