Sparring

[This is from a free write so don’t expect good grammar, folks.]

Flash and burn. My skin is tingling and I can feel the sting linger. Oh, but I love it. I move and she moves with me. There’s a rhythm to her aggression. Oh, and I love it. She strikes for me and I let it happen. I can feel the force come at me. It stings and I know it’ll bruise. It’s her gift to me. I’ll keep it for a while. Then it cuts. Cuts to black and we’re in her room. Equipment is thrown around and nothing is sacred. Oh, and there are bruises. Forming from the strikes and forming a new. It’s rough. A little rough and we smile about it. I bite her lip and she goes for mine. Too hard. I bleed a little. She licks my lips and I smile at her. Push. Slams against the wall and I pick her leg up. Sticks on the ground. Battered and bruised. Used and weathered. Not us. Still fresh. Tired as hell and still fresh. Oh, and I love it. And it’s a new game now. I pin her to the ground and she wraps her legs around me. I have reach, but she has flexibility. We have our speed and our aggression. Still fresh. My bruises are showing and so are hers. We’ll make new ones tonight.