untitled

This quiet rhythm of our discourse
leaves me gasping, shoulders
tensed, searching for calm,
though you'll claim
nothing's been gambled,
nothing's at stake.

I am just a woman,
remember,
trying to cope
with the fall.

so little to string me along
must be too much to bear,

maybe a showdown's in order
some sort of high-noon fight,
you come armed with reason
I'll throw knives of want

last one standing
gets the light
closes the door