Just a poem

I'd like to preface this piece by stating that I normally don't post my poetry, here, or anywhere. Like most of me, I tend to keep it to myself. 

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Dealer

It's difficult for me to let go, but when I do, I lay all my cards on the table.  I feel it all over, over, over again, flush in the face. I write it out in letters, revealing myself to you, to you I spell it out in a million maroon liquid spades. I walk away and won't, while my heart folds, look back to see—the pieces collapse into a bloodied pool of chips—and I wait for you by making myself up, back up, not waiting at all. No tricks again. The card is yours to deal and you’ll place it in the palm of my hand open.

© AC 2013