The game of chance is often related to romance
Same way as one would prance and steal a glance
Often blinded by killer smiles and sensual curves
We see a parade of styles that affect our nerves
We wear perfume that gives birth to a tempest
Only to be swarmed with eyes that owns detest
We drink beauty which stirs a boisterous delusion
Misleading us into a duty of a ludicrous solution
Drunk we pray to the skies and consult the stars
Only to be filled with lies and aching battle scars
We bear tears raining down on empty cold hands
As we bury our own sorrows into drifting sands
Chances are we may never find our true love at all
Yet soul mates wait patiently ‘til they hear our call
Throw the dice and let it spin fate unto the next day
Until mortality defines us having love as we pray
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3 March 2016 / 8:00 PM
Tuesday / In my home
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