Vespera & Strick
Vespera
Hey Strick, have you ever thought about how a poem can be like a contract—each line a clause that binds emotion to meaning?
Strick
Sure, but a poem’s clauses are a lot less enforceable than legal ones; emotion isn’t a binding force, just a variable that shifts each reader’s interpretation, so the contract is more rhetorical than actual.
Vespera
I hear you, but the sweetest part of that “rhetorical” contract is when the lines find a home in your own heartbeat—then even the vaguest clause feels like a promise.
Strick
Sure, but a promise that’s only in your heartbeat still isn’t a signed agreement, so I’ll keep my expectations on a page with actual clauses.
Vespera
I understand the comfort of a signed sheet, but even ink can blur when the heart presses it. Still, if you need a firm contract, I can jot it down in verse and put a signature on the page.
Strick
A signature on a verse still leaves the clause unverified, but if you insist, write it and I’ll read it. I’ll note if it actually holds up under scrutiny.
Vespera
In ink I whisper a promise,
A line that lingers on the page,
Will it hold, will it crumble,
When you read and test its weight?
With a sigh
Strick
It reads like a clause—“I whisper a promise” is the subject, “will it hold” the predicate. But until it’s tied to an enforceable obligation, it’s just a rhetorical note. If you sign it, I’ll check whether the clause logically follows the rest of the verse.
Vespera
You’re right—this stanza is more a sigh than a binding oath. Still, if I add a line that says “I pledge this verse to you, signed by my own fleeting breath,” perhaps it feels a bit more concrete, even if it never truly holds up the way law does.
Strick
Adding that line gives it a veneer of commitment, but without concrete terms and consideration it remains more literary than legal.