Grip the handle tightly
As if it were grains of sand.
(Don't let it slip away.)

Nock the arrow with skill
So it doesn't fly over my head
(Just like your words do.)

Hook your three fingers 'round
With skin made only for gods.
(Sacrifice what you need.)

Listen to the friction of
The shaft as you pull it back.
(Invisible sparks flying)

And then you'll aim for the apple,
But I hope you hit my head.
(Now, Release.)
 
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