November 1995

I foolishly agreed to play with you,
What trouble should I have foreseen in cards?
If only divination could imbue,
In me the knowledge that against you guards.

The hand that I was dealt cannot be won,
I sit across from you and urges rise,
Your gaze befuddles me and I'm undone,
I'd hoped a boyfriend stopped my swift demise.

But you still hold all cards, I've nothing left,
This tension deepens: I'm a bitch in heat,
I crave your hands, your lips; I'm so bereft,
Stop playing, please, this torture's not still sweet.

Exploding Snap? I'm ready to combust!
I burn though you do not return this lust.