Deuce (continued)
We traded calm, we measured doubt,
Afraid to speak, to point it out.
Your hand held still, your gaze held mine,
A beat, a pause—then crossed the line.
Advantage – You
"I don't want wins," you softly said,
"No trophies carved, no match ahead.
I'd trade each point, each flawless play,
If you would simply choose to stay."
The words were light, yet thunderstruck—
No clever spin, no stroke of luck.
Just truth unguarded, raw and shy—
A serve that aimed not low, but high.
I lost my breath, my thoughts withdrew,
My chest became the court for you.
No net, no fear, no set, no scheme—
Just love laid bare, without a theme.
Game – Love
The final swing was not a fight,
No push for power, no need for might.
I stepped to you, no words, no fame—
Just smiled and whispered,
"You've won the game."