O succulent tank porn and its lusty armour
My heart is like an empty field and you its farmer
Your tanky face, those tanky eyes
Those tanky breasts, your tanky thighs
And a farmer hat that rests on your head evermore
For this is needed for completion of the metaphor
Comet, Churchill and Centurion
You are three British tanks and I a human Hungarian
Hefty cruiser, sluggish support and a massive gun, respectively
You’ll cause murder and mayhem and blow stuff up collectively.
Your function is death but does heart want to love?
Foisted into battle this winter but neglectful of
The very fact that at heart and with closer inspection
War isn’t the answer, and requires deeper reflection