When we sat down yesterday.
‘It’s a movement of a steady hand,
More graceful than that of your average man
That allows a life to override itself
At the flick of a switch
On a whim.’
‘Shall we begin?’ She asked,
As she took my trembling hand
In her grasp.
I told her that we shouldn’t, or rather,
That we couldn’t.
I was an average man,
Less grace than most in destructive hands.