claw spreads flaw, bound reason’s wide,
considered wisdom’s primal choice
is still to burn, despise her will.

you didn’t understand the “no”
or care “what else” – flicked aside
soft words unheard,
poured acid on “it’s up to her”
displaced your tone with fake-it awe

that Mars has water still but old;
worn out, yes, but dark-age metal
is your way to fire her up.

a possible edit of this poem:

Despising will, blind metal offers
dark-age fire to burn bad earth,
torch my zero, start again.

Soft “no, what else” is put aside;
condescending acid drips
on non-compliance bound and wide.

So what if Mars has water still?
Your fake-it awe suggests he learned
what i will not about your way.