That can sharpen my senses

I raise my defenses,

Before its too late

I am threatened,

I hesitate,

I hold my position

I hold my breath

I swing, feet planted, my eyes afraid

I tighten my grip,

En guarde! I yell again

And again.

He has no sword,

Just an open chest

He walks towards my angry blade

Until it pierced his flesh

His eyes cringe,

His lips twitch, smiling still

His voice  assured, 

” En guarde” he says

His wound dripped,

My will heaved 

” Unsheathe” I tried to say

Yet it sounded a lot more like

” Touchè”