High Bluffing

A tinderbox child she was

from hearing the words

in some fairytale



They played criminals then

and now expect themselves

to imagine less garish games



How to mingle their sockets

give up ownership to generosity

and sleep sleep in each others’ arms



The ideal of suppertime has

not gotten old for her nor him

nor has the eloquence of forgiving



Striking what they can from these twigs they

burn through subtlety from the

grit make soap begin to bathe