kitchen-side poetry

My flatmate showed me this poem, and I really loved it – somehow it just made sense to me. I feel I know exactly what at means (well what it means to me I guess)...which makes me wonder, if you read this, and it seems to mean something clear to you, tell me what it means to you...

Letter by Leonard Cohen

How you murdered your family
means nothing to me
as your mouth moves across my body

And I know your dreams
of crumbling cities and galloping horses
of the sun coming too close
and the night never ending

but these mean nothing to me
beside your body

I know that outside a war is raging
that you issue orders
that babies are smothered and generals beheaded

but blood means nothing to me
it does not disturb your flesh

tasting blood on your tongue
does not shock me
as my arms grow into your hair

Do not think I do not understand
what happens
after the troops have been massacred
and the harlots put to the sword

And I write this only to rob you
that when one morning my head
hangs dripping with the other generals
from your house gate

that all this was anticipated
and so you will know that it meant nothing to me.

Go ahead...tell me what you think!