Terse replies like a tide, it rides me into his sword

Making intercourse flow;  contending like a foe

Balking his verbal grasp just irritates him more

Silly man don’t you see?

Kneeling is all about love for me

To trade, that’s the start; my power, your heart…

This…yes this makes me willowy.

No, you say

This is not the juncture.

A moon buds in my hands, my heart, my mind…

In that coolness, I wonder then why the terseness?

Why the desire to win with no open hand?

Attitudes and actions belie words it seems to me.

I say, lay down your sword and let the moon bud between us.

Admit your heart doesn’t care about junctures.

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