You make my nerves stand
on the edge of the blade
that you have sharpened against
the quivering beats of my heart.
And I, your silly wide eyed girl,
have stood in your thrall
and loved you in ways
that people brand over the top.
But the knife that you so lovingly flaunt,
drawing blood in between
our make-up dance,
how carelessly you forgot
it was I who had it forged
in the scorching fervor of my love
and granted you the carte blanche?
This sway you hold over me,
rests on the fulcrum of my wants;
this Polaris that guides me to you,
I wrought the axis for it to shine upon,
this gravity that tethers my care to you,
I gave it the heft to vaunt it’s vain pomp.
So tune down the cocky prance,
Dilute the swagger,
Mute the ego’s flounce,
what we have is no chance Romance,
or some destiny’s graft
or fate’s trick of the hand.
No stars aligned, No angels sang.
It was a preference, A volition,
A desire, A Choice
So put the nonchalance aside
You’re only allowed to knife
me as much as I’ll oblige
And darling, keep in mind,
the ephemeral nature of might,
the ubiquitous mutation of Time.
In this Warring Love of Kisses and Ire,
Remember where the cusp of control lies.
And as long as you agree to bide
the Letter of mutual devoir,
You’ve my word that I too will keep on playing nice.