your mercy, you know

I'm pretty much at your mercy, you know.
Though you may know it not.
Your sword-point is poised,
- hanging by a far slimmer gossamer thread
than the one under which ol' Damocles sat - and aimed
by a perfect hand with perfect eye,
in one blade-straight line from the center of my heart
up tip, foible, forte, hilt, pommel,
to the sky.
Note -
not the bottom of my heart.
No, nor the top -
but the center.

You, dear, will run me through
one of these days.
(if in fact, you haven't already -
that sword of yours
- so sharp, I may not feel the pain
'til I fall)