Symbiosis

The bow on his face 
has but misled the arrow-
it is me he's wounded
with a kiss.

Adversaries, were we
two opponents in a game-
his to shoot,
mine to shame?

Exalted, those eyes
have now gained colour-
my blood complements
his grays.

Lust is a chisel;
I'm reduced to an idol.
Love is debris 
he rejects.

Yet I am the beat
of his heart; I am
the spring and he,
my oasis.

Need is the basis
of our bitter symbiosis.