79/365: point of view

I was not born in Turkey
so it's hard for me to explain
why when we talk
I seem to be a whirl of bright cloth,
my twin blades flashing
in a turning
not unlike the chaotic turning of two suns offset
rising East-West as expected, but also almost West-East
if this were possible.

You, with your laconically complected articulation
that says little when we both listen closely
(ears bent in - observing)
You are closer to the British style
as if what you hold back
is not as obvious as what I put forward -
the tip of your rapier
pointed and waiting for the linear strike
through all of my words -
my words.

but my words are a cloud of meaning -
does the lightning speak any more clearly
than the sky?