the final hand

butterflies wave
their chaotic wings
setting off a storm
somewhere in the
vicinity of my liver

I glance at him
ready to cut him down
at any hint of a victorious
grin, but his ante’s on
the table and the hand’s been
dealt for good or ill

if I twitch my nose
and shrug one shoulder
and toss my cards face down
on the table
he can never see
his own annihilation

but my nose is still
and I stare at him
remembering everything
except my hand
if I can’t remember the hanged man
the tower
and death reversed
we will live forever
his rib somehow mine
my hand somehow his

with eyes locked
he lays down his hand
and I fold
conscious in this last instant
before all is hidden
and I have to do all the dishes for six weeks straight
while he enjoys my chocolate stash
how much more fun
chocolate would be
together