I reach for your hand and shake it.
I express my gratitude for your maturity,
but the juvenile peeks from behind your blank stare and extends a wry smile. 
The acknowledgement startles him and he seeks makeshift cover in your dark elements;
he can’t hide. 

I ease my kung fu grip to greet your weak nature
but the blade your cuff obscures pierces my wrist.
No surprise there.
I smile as my blood drains slow;
My heart can’t pound or rattle my chest in your presence. 

I tilt my hand to stain you red.
The horror you express is enough to satisfy
but not enough to signal the rapture.

You can’t kill me.
I know you wish you could.