At last, long last
it was correct to open wrathful floodgates
it was righteous to rampage
because this sweet bastard had it coming.

That perfect adrenaline
vanishes this pain but relishes that
powers the pounding, stokes the strokes
switches on a machine idled too long.

So I cast my opener,
a little tap to the gob
inviting reposte
and asks what he might have in return.

And then he sullies this opus
a crime, a sacrilege
he neuters us both, the slimy shit
by fighting like a girl.