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.
war on the dining room floor
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