So I read an article about the symbolism of the component movements of one of iaido's forms, and then got this crazy idea in my head to experiment with that in a poem form. I'm not exactly sure I really like at all how it turned out, but here's what happened when I tried, at any rate:
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(the cuts she did not grace me with)

The first (no action without consequence), the blade slo
   wly d r a w n till
         thelastflash of
movement.               Warning, watching before
      decision      (hers, a sharp burning in the dark
         as she carved at my back)
and the unhealthy tickle, of blood, trickling
                                                                   unseen.

The second cut. Compassion.
      The intent to end my suffering.
            Her eyes were as a shark's, though:
blank with sullen incomprehension [apathy]
      as she watched me
                                       bleed.
Quite the conundrum, learning
to give oneself the killing blow.

Cleansing. Of blade. Of heart
      and mind, each slick with emotion and reaction;
of dirt in which I had thrust my sword(self)
      to lean on and stand again.

Sheathing. Letting the blade(soul) be
                     still.
                           The past put away.
Always yet
                  aware               of present
                              of future,