And so we dance: you lunge, I parry,
Nervous and watchful, poised to strike;
You advance, aggressive and spiteful,
My deft riposte defends my life.
Our every step is choreographed
To the music that our weapons make.
I fight to live; you fight to have
That which was never yours to take.
Your rapier primed with deadly poison,
With every spiteful stroke you seek
To taint me with that vengeful essence,
To leave me wounded, bleeding, weak.
A touch! You smile when you sense blood;
Tenacious, defiant, I carry on:
You have not yet injured me enough
To warrant surrender to your wrongs.
©2017 Joanne Van Leerdam