Fake It Like You Mean It

She charged at me, she, the bull.
Her horns pierced me, though I did not bleed.
I gasped and grinned at the notion of this power attempting to discover me.

Though hesitant and reserved about such matters of interest, I vowed to never ignore the ginger knock of opportunity.

Through poison, I was made pure;
Willing, for the first time, to ration smiles.
Not just from my face, but from a dormant somewhere, untouched.

She, the bull, her charge is welcome.