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I do not play a witty game of cards,
but lay my hand down on the table
resting my cards face up
with few secrets
and a mixed suit.

I am curious about you
in more than those simple ways
of strangers
or casual friends.

I find myself
asking plainly
for some of your time
and room to discover
who you are.

There are face cards in a scatter in your life.
I know you have casual connections at times,
and one protected queen.

I want to ask you what you want from me.

I keep one card
close to my chest.
It is sticky and clings to my skin.
The ink is leaving the softened paper.

I am afraid that I will
never find the balance that I need,
long-term trust and connection.
My longing and fear
hurt my concentration,
but there is little need
to bluff, when you don’t fully believe that what you desire
is something you will find.

What use is there in witty repartee?
A flirtatious flip of the edge of a card against the table?
when I feel fatigue,
and a barrenness of belief,
as I place the cards
on the table with a simplicity that borders on challenge.

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