a date

when you find a first,

you rely on instinct;

so you run to your peace,

an elegant term

for the same drought and wind

you previously fought,

so.

when you asked to be my first

i recoiled from your

jury testimony of feelings

and nestled in my tree of peace,

laid on my beach of fire, and

only now felt that it burned

yet.

you laughed,

you pursued,

you tried again,

you asked again,

and again,

and.

we made it a fight,

a test,

or rather a game,

placed bets and brought bribes,

yet.

as i reasoned our incompatibility,

you said you agree

that opposite makes interest,

garbage makes art,

difference makes memory,

and.

i almost forgot

i couldn't say that

i wanted us kissing

because that meant i lost,

but would it?

so.

bravo, my dear,

you might just win this game