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Poem

He’ll either choose you or her. 
we don’t know but we know. 
Obsession pennies, and hands drool for more. 
You give in to the oracles. 
Snow hands like those on The Lovers card. 
Can’t you see they might be your hands?
Feeding your ears what you eagerly crave.
When in love, your brain is your misguiding reader.
It storms lies as long as you keep yourself 
vulnerable to it.

It picks different cards and tells you favorable stories 
like she’s the fool, you’re destined lovers, 
even if he’s proposing to others.
The reader knows best, doesn’t it?
One, three, six months, and two years 
passed on decks, trying to sort him out.
Fool in Reverse keeps showing up, 
he has given you every sign to dump him. 
But your reader’s interpretation is it must be about 
your innocence or a new beginning with him.

Three of Swords may tell you he’s a cheater, 
and The Tower may tell you about your grandparent’s loss, 
but the cards never tell you’re gambling with your years 
until you find them past you.

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