A Series of Near Misses

The razor edge
of brutal honesty
takes its pound of flesh

You wince
when it hits too close
and I

feel the sting of martyrdom
when your aim
finds home

Then
as if ruthless truth
is not enough

there are the lies
the flung arrows
venomous as any bite

but these
are just the odd moments
of discontent

We retreat
then reunite
a truce

born of more
than pinkie swear
this better and worse.

 

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