Sword Fighters
The two sword fighters are familiar with their dance. Their tango, their jive. They swing, they perform, they entertain. The crowds fall in love with their twists and faints, they clamour for more - five coins on the one in red and black - you're on.
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The two sword fighters are tired of their dance. Their tango, their jive. They call out, they cry and curse. They fall, deep and hard into cruel, unforgiving floors. They had fallen in love with their swords, their fighting, but now it was tiresome - do you want to win tonight? - I'll wear the red and black vest then.
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The two sword fighters are changing their dance. Their tango, their jive. They grow, they add and inflate emotions to evoke gasps and sighs. They rise again, their love that was dulling is re-newing.
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The two sword fighters are kissing, no longer dancing, no longer fighting. Just blazing their love, alone with no audience at last. No audience taking bets, no swords pushing them apart. Just them, the sword fighters, who no longer fight
