Dave Bonta's short poem starts with a strange, unsettling claim: the speaker would rather keep an enemy's head, in the sense of his mind, his presence, his defiance, than keep the enemy alive. The word "head" is ambiguous. It could mean a literal trophy, or it could mean something more like the enemy's identity and force of will. The poem leaves that open.
The second stanza twists the idea further. When the enemy dies, the speaker says, "I love him for it." Death seems to turn a living opponent into something purer and more bearable to love. The enemy becomes "a no one," a blank, yet that absence still "pierces like a thorn." So the love isn't comfortable. It hurts, and it lingers.
The mood is cold, tense, and a little ironic. The speaker sounds calm, but the feeling underneath is obsessive. The poem suggests that hatred and love can sit very close together, and that losing an enemy can leave a sharp, unexpected wound.