I hated dating. It seemed fake to me to be on best behavior for a new person, all the while knowing that, if things progressed, my faults and true nature would sooner or later be exposed. My dates faced similar doubts, and awkward moments followed. In one case, however, she was very composed, and relied on magical thinking. She was an expert in Tarot cards, and I was curious. I quickly realized that it was just one more way to avoid who we really were, however.
He studied her
as she placed the cards
upon the table.
It felt like a polygraph exam.
Could she sense his prayer
for a future of loving her?
Could she read in the cards
the desire in his body,
to place his hands upon her gentle curves,
and the anticipation in his voice?
Or, was it all a game?
She read the cards
aloud.
He already knew that he was bound to the past,
a past that carried only broken love
and broken promises.
He was, however,
a willing participant in her seduction.
He would go where she led him.
He was a budding plant,
growing towards a powerful sun,
reaching for the sky,
a boy-man,
learning to love.
The cards told him
that he had much work to do.
