Not My Victory

Oh, my love,
In last night’s dream
I held you in my arms.
Your sweet freckled body
warm against mine
sated, in the aftermath
of our passion.
Now they
tell me, you
are pierced by death.
Your sand-stippled body
far away
in a strange land.
Turning sour
as you lie
sun-dappled, in the fold,
of a camouflage net.
Is this
the victory,
I should praise?