Building Bunkers

I was born from death, 
from the blast of a grenade as it sets a foe ablaze 
and dazzles the sky with its terrible light. 
 
And I burn for you, 
but the heat in my veins is gunpowder -- 
trembling with the power to shake a city, 
but never to keep a lover warm. 
 
I’d lie with you twelve feet deep in a trench 
and let the earth embrace our bones, 
but I dream of building bunkers  
and you dream of building homes.