I had a losing streak;
each time chipped away at me.
But then you looked at me
like you just hit the jackpot.
My cheeks become flushed
because you chose me.
Not afraid to raise the stakes,
your hand trumps the others.
It's because we're so well-suited
that I bet it all on you.
This poem, and a very few
This poem, and a very few others from various poets on postpoems, reminds me of Ezra Pound's words when T S Eliot published The Waste Land: "About enough to make the rest of us close up shop."
Starward
As your screen name suggests,
As your screen name suggests, your use of the metapor in this poem is stunningly brilliant.
Starward