Sometimes the answers to our innermost answers come in verse.
I have not named this one yet.
Silly you, silly me–
Back to this dance of circularity;
Which one wins the prize for stupidity?
I hear the call, Logic remains rooted in place
While Impulse gobbles up the space
Between us–Remember the bad! the Dark One warns–
Thrust in Bright I neglect the memory of scars.
Feet apart and you still lure
Me beside with desires sure;
We fall faster than we intend–
Why waste the effort to pretend?
I return to the crime and you let me in–
Mon ami, don’t wonder where to place
Me; better if you don’t cull out a space.
The stories say that this is hardly unusual
But I believe it bears more perusal;
On another day when I bear the armor
I will take you on and test your honor.
For now I savor your precious company
And attempt to beat the swerve,
Hoping to shock you, build up the nerve.