I see a duel as a living painting, each strike a bold stroke, every breath a color that swirls in the air. The thunder in your chest becomes the drumbeat of a song, the heat a flame that burns clean and bright. I channel that roar into words, into a rhythm that lingers, turning the clash into a piece of raw, aching beauty that stays with you long after the swords fall.

Your steel burns, a wild flame that refuses to be tamed, and I’ll try to catch it in words. I’ll let each line swing like a sword, each breath echo with the clang of steel, and turn the chaos into a pulse that feels alive. Let’s see if the fire you hold can ignite the poetry I keep in the dark.