[ Lesbian ] Comrades In Arms

 
Natasha, in sunglasses at night, exhaled    
a Kremlinesque fog, blowing smoke  
up our asses during the interrogation.  
 
Hungry and svelte with pink felt tips  
that could Chekov any comrade's box,  
she was a he of a KGB conspiracy theory  
and I was paranoid they were all    
out to get me.  
 
Their predator drones hovered above  
targeting my uvula with long-range  
silicone scud missiles lubricated  
in lukewarm, mercurial deceptions  
 
Once a flowerchild of the Sixties, my soil  
was now heir to their scorched earth  
policies of salting wombs with Communism.  
 
Cream of the Kremlin, fouled and greasy---  
this dormitory wing was swiftly turning  
into a buttery Chernobyl.  
 
Bread line grew lengthy down kitchen's  
back alley; banged mercilously  
were my pot and pans with ladels.  
 
The spanking persisted, welt upon welt.  
 
Her camera continued filming; the propaganda  
machine would use this to reel in fresh recruits.