Damn it woman.
Not everything is a battle.
Shrapnel and carnage
strewn across the kitchen and down the hallway.
Smoke is billowing from bedroom,
slashed and burned.
Lines in the sand,
abandoned every five feet.
Last stands over every nuance.
My white flag has bullet holes in it,
you beheaded my offer of parlay.
After every retreat you gutted my rearguard.
So now you are in your trench
and I am in mine,
its quiet at least,
so I guess I will pour myself a drink.