The only truth is the one that I choose,
and choose, and choose.
What then of these arrows
dipped in the elixir of delusion,
sent forth by the bow of truth?
Love may go awry,
but the archer always makes his mark.
We’ll sooner die from bleeding than
from the poison on the arrows point.
The universal adhesive for pairs who seek to be one,
is in whether each can endure being two.
(Revision in progress)