For that I resist you, I love you. For that I shall not sway e'en to your overaweing charm, I declare my loyalty, through a stance that separates myself from thee. For that I stand apart, from this very stance, I say, I love thee. For that I nurture that anger you birth within me, from the very heart of principle offended, I hold that which is highest in thee high, and shall not cease to salute. But from the very ground of my own being, which cannot be abandoned, not even for that love I hold.

For that I resist you, I love you. For you merit the highest love, and that love I give comes with rebuke, for that which is less than strong. O beloved, I would have you tall with might, I would have your arms bicep'd and flexed, with fist raised tall against the age's holy terrors, for I hold you that high, higher than any cower or crouch which you might in fear's moment timid give. There are those lines where I cannot give, where the cord hath no slack, and I may not sway to please, not even thee.

Look yonder upon seaside cliff, there on that peak I stand defiant, and my aired fist is a salute to thee, a salute which says I shall not come down. O love, I know I myself merit rebuke, but think thee not this breast does not itself whip in each Delling's scion sail across skies? I am my own highest critic, and whatever strong satire your bridled tongue might wish is uttered more loudly within, and so I too grow by rebuke, for where I have wilted, I have failed the blossom, and where I have melted, I have refused the strong edge of stone, and I alone must answer these irrefutable charges. How mighty indeed these taunting indictments, that only the strong counsel of my soul's elfin spirit may eke good defense in that court to come! I shall not let my failures lie fallow, but lift them goad to mock and make me more, for I have no excuse to be less than strong, and it is strength the fruit the Gods wish to pick from those trees to whom they Godly gave breath! Yet so I may call thee out to that might your own soul merits.

For that I resist you, I love you. It is not, as it might seem, in follow that we most loyal show. Distance is but a glue to those whose hearts cannot help but honor, and that I "no" utter, to above dress my deeper "yes", is but a way of love through defiance. For you come not to feed me, but to be, and where I say you fail to feed, I utter only my own menu, and do not condemn, only affirming my self appetite. O love, you are greater than fodder for my taste, and that your lips alone do not feed me is no testament against that strong esteem mature I hold for thee, for such is nothing less than sooth.

For that I resist you, I love you. It is none less than utter respect. For you are holy, beloved, and beg distinction, which the distance of my arms grant. The heart in its uniqueness is ever so close. Your dignity is foremost in my defiance. You have touched me, and I shall say so, and it shall never not be, nor not have been, for what is truly touched is transformed, and must speak its truthful weaving if sooth is e'er to be had. I cannot be as you will, for I am wild, but know, beauty wrapped in gleaming skin and wonder-word dripping lips, that this wildness I am, even in resistance, says nothing but, I love you, even if I utter it past the slough of romance's coil, for love is found for strong souls in ecdysis. So let it be.