Under the title "Gun lover," the poem gives us four short lines, each built the same way: an adjective, a noun, and then "of a gun." The repetition feels like a list of endearments, the kind a person might murmur about someone they adore. But the things being praised are odd. A gun is a clock, a rose, a dish, a kiss.
Each image pulls in a different direction. The "certain clock" suggests timing and inevitability, something that counts down to one result. The "fleet rose" is beautiful but quick, and a rose also has thorns. The "plain dish" is ordinary and domestic, as if a gun were as everyday as a meal. The "drunk kiss" is the most intimate, and also the most reckless.
The speaker never says outright how they feel, but the title and the tender comparisons suggest fascination, even love. The mood is calm on the surface and unsettling underneath, because the softness of the language sits so close to danger.