My footwork rakes the ground
Readying the earth
Cultivating space that feeds
My strategy, nudging it to bloom
The most perfect tactic
Executed out of context
Fails, of course
There is no proper act in isolation
This bout becomes a pas de deux
In which I lead you to
Expect exactly what
I will not do
I lure you to a distance and a pace
That lends me the advantage
Complements my strengths
Suits me to a tee
This dance is worth each single precious second
Of 180—
All I have, since in the end
One touch is all I need
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