His eyes spin roulette wheels,
red black in desire,
odd even with gain,
gilded in guilt,
dizzy with shame.
Words skitter,
settling on zero.
Fingers explode my skin,
keen as greyhounds
out of traps.
Like a player on tilt he loses.
Cards face down,
waiting for Lady Luck.
He shuffles, I cut.
We begin another game.
The Purple Hermit 