when we turned the same card
we stared with mock bravado
into each other’s eyes,
starving for this excuse for intimacy
and glutting — we had no fill — we tried
taunting 2’s and boasting kings
with our slyest tempered smiles,
hungover but hovering
slightly above the carpet,
pretending or forgetting
the game was decided
before it began.
It’s her birthday, but she’s wearing a drab, striped dress,
two shades of gray,
and when she speaks she sounds as somber
as her outfit projects.
He commands minutiae,
possesses a mundane worldliness
that enables him to identify brands of unfiltered sake
but not transform a night with them.
He seems oblivious that her praise of this latest bottle
was a stark statement of fact,
joyless.
She will leave him soon for a dynamic man,
outgrow her willingness to gamble
and marry an architect.
Evening Dusk 