En garde, mon amour!
The clashes of steel sound distant and weak as the tip of my spade catches the colour of your love making it change consistency to the point where it's just a crimson mist around my blade. The stakes are high - my soul or yours. We move in perfect symmetry, chasing the light, tasting the sparks we cause by fighting and we never kneel. Your shot for my shoulder catches my shot to yours and in simple synchronicity we lose ourselves. By the time we notice we forgot our souls somewhere far away in another moment, it's too late... What shall we fight for now?
En garde...