These games, they Do not serve us, my love These wounds, they do not Heal in this way. They fester and pus As we keep on circling Each other in this primeval, But vital standoff. Though it is true, that a Test of strength between Equals, as we are, can foster Great affection There is much work To be done together, and Bleeding hearts do not congeal With doubts abound. And this circle has No end, only recrimination For the many, mutually-inflicted Slights and sorrows. Communication then Falters into the gratingly Agonizing, cold silence of apathy And bitter memory. But, my love, I cannot Help but remember, also, Innumerable lifetimes spent In search of you. So I will be here, With you, I will remain for Another forever and a day if That is what it takes. And we will hack This messy cycle of Kama That has kept the poles apart Over ages and aeons. For if it is only my Pride to be swallowed, ‘Tis but a small price to pay for the Fragrance of your bosom. 3D Render 7680 × 4320 pixels