Round 2

The first blow came as a surprise.
A verbal assault of right hooks
caught me off guard and there is
no neutral corner to hide in.

The second blow pisses me off.
We are sparring now, a jab to
the left and stick and stones
leave you bleeding from the ears.

Sweat starts to fly, makes the ring
slippery. There are no fouls in this
match. Mouthpieces removed and
our tongues are wagging.

You always said I had a glass jaw.
Look at me now, slinging pity-pat
punches- the kind that wear you down
over the long haul like a drunk

begging for one more round after last call.
Pound for pound you've got me. Bigger,
stronger, and more powerful- you always
out dance me. I throw more punches

but you- one haystack and I am
down for the count. We both forfeit
before that point- most of the time.

I can feel this ending. One round after the
next and the bell ringing to call me home
any home
except the one I share with you.

I'm done. Untape my hands so I can walk
away. Cut the binding so I can breathe again
and please,
forgive me.
I forgot you are perfect.