Duel
Well do I know
there's naught to be won.
Desire nonetheless drives
me (and you?) on.
Do you fancy this fight?
I shall not retreat.
So lift up your sword,
and bring on the heat!
You advance with a laugh,
I parry with a smile,
you fade all coquettish -
I lunge with deft guile.
You shed my offense,
launch diagonal strike,
but I'm always on guard,
to a love I dislike.
Yet, despite all of this,
your strength doth prevail.
And your steel finds home,
in the source of travail.
Crimson blood bleeds
from my breast unto you;
the heart's sap has its wish,
despite all that I do.
3 October 2019
Copyright © J. I. Thomas F. | Year Posted 2019
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