Within the blackened deep of withered night
A clash between the jester and the knave
The queen, blood-stained and crystal satin white
Stands betwixt them, adventurous and brave
Her heart is plainly draped in molten silk
Defying the expectations of her age
She bathes herself in fresh vanilla milk
With scented hints of cinnamon and sage
Her dexterous hand will quickly shift the score
Flouting the scourge of lovers fold
The jester always leaves her wanting more
The knave’s play is dangerous and bold
She hesitates then valiantly takes the leap
To languish is to perish or decay
A royal flush spreads out beneath her feet
Then floats her down towards a shallow grave
I wished the queen of hearts would cast her hand
To quench the blazing embers that I felt
Her blood dries up and then dissolves to sand
Burying the cards that I’ve been dealt.
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