Every conversation
Our  words clink like fencing
The sensei waits in my mind-sensing
One hand revealed; his chin to the sky
Cutting off my comments; blade on my thigh
Barbs and jabs, grins and guffaws
Back and forth we dance, grasping at straws
Eventually he lets me sufficiently strike
War is deception, love is a fight
Commentary vibrates cursed by black art
Sensei wins every battle since he has skewered my heart
Every conversation
He gains a little bit more
Until his sword is on the pillow, my pants on the floor…