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.