Is it preferable to be decorous
And bow gracefully
To the poet who holds all the cards?
The one I love
And pine for?
He recognized instantly I was
Still am, always will be
Deep in love?
Deep in the arts?
Deep in the throat?
Or is it preferable to get angry?
Which does he deserve?
He said to guard against
A man of few words, but he managed
To say “obtrusive” to me
And I was hurt, but I apologized
To the poet who holds all the cards
He keeps himself in check.
He won’t let a single card slip by,
Although he shows them all to me
Just so I know what I am missing.
“Look, this is the king of hearts,” he says
“What a specimen!”
“Look, here’s the queen of hearts, a sad lady,
How come such sadness?” he asks.
He knows how come, he’s a pretender
Each card signifies a loss.
Each one reminds me of my job:
Entertain him, caress his vanity
Well, why stop at a caress?
How about a good old b and j?
His vanity deserves it.
After all he practices his hobby
With superlative artistry,
He is the poet of seduction
Forgive me, I sound obtrusive, I know.
Hard to avoid obtrusiveness, hard to be graceful
Plus, he meditates,
A pilgrim of mountaintops,
Which makes him even more desirable.
I crave the gamut.
I mean, what good is swimming
If you won’t dive?
I address him:
Will you draw me into the raw,
Uncloaked intimacy of your orbit?
I am such a lousy card player!