Clinging to comfort, fearing abandonment,
Who dares the self-empowering act of separation?
In what position do you conclude your
Worthiness to reign supreme in such fertile moments?

Rhetorical of course, for a physical battle is but absent,
‘Tis only a tacit exchange of venom between two souls.
Always present, but selective with its encounters,
I wait not for your presence, and sleep consciously eager.

And that who equivocates tear drops with victories,
You subsequently turn hand when we conjoin.
When moments turn into years, I ask only for more.
How audacious to criticize your offerings am I.