Enigma
Solitary footsteps
crushing autumn leaves
against the forest floor
resemble night sounds,
tossing and turning,
rustling linens upon which
risks of confessions are weighed.
Dare those truths be spoken?
Would silence provide
more peaceful slumber
than admitting thoughts
of selfish needs,
specifics required
to quench desire,
and declarations of intent
laced with uncertainty?
Does your heart crave
continued stillness?
Will you be startled
when the offer is made,
the love professed?
Will you flee - like doe facing fox,
or surrender having longed
for words waiting stalled
upon these trembling lips
dry with fear of rejection?
Even odds my words,
placed face-up on the table
will win your hand or be raked aside
with autumn’s spent grandeur
to die rotting on cold ground.
Dare I gamble
on a fifty-fifty chance?
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