The Gallant Man

With each prick of laughter, you turn your head away.
 Your attention has shifted now. The thorns have pricked you, like an electric current, have jerked and Spasmed jolting you into an unfamiliar reality. 
You do not like this terrain. You do not like those words which slide into bloodied sentences looking for casualty. 
You search my eyes, with your jewelled salt brown Gaze, it is an uneasy smile you prescribe, doctoring the rejection i feel. 
You tilt my chin up with your fingertip, and say in a baritone like warm chocolate steaming from mug, "i like different, different is good. You were enough."

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