Because in my case results are inconclusive
but seem to beckon toward the negative
I think I’ll respond to the inevitable: “Are you sure
you want one more?” with a joyful Roman five.
I’ll seek out the other moonlight dancers and thieves,
though you fear I’ll wake in a bath minus my liver
(the bandits pact not applicable to newcomers),
still I’ll turn my bleeding back on good advice.
When I accept the solace of another last cigarette
and your eyes swing an orbit in their sockets
know that I won’t be seeking forgiveness
tonight’s purple hessian is no backdrop for resolutions.
Why not join me for a game? You can pick
as long as it’s for money we won’t even have to kiss.
Canasta? Twister? I always did surprise at chess.
Either way you’ll win, leave me broke, I promise.
Tonight, delicately as you would a mandolin, cradle
your stifled swaddling of disapproval just a little
looser, and know that because there is no place
like an old friend’s floor
I could never turn down
just one more.