Chances Are

Chances Are

Chance are our clasped hands are not good enough for your friends
Your droopy fingers run right way from my grasp
With fleeting certainty.

Chances are our meshed bodies will not rub silkenly
Through satin sheets once more.

Chances are you, me, and our lives clashed one last time
With words and warnings

Of dreams and dying eyes
That once laughed in the light.
Those eyes I once fell in love with long ago.

Chances are we will never kiss and dance in electric candlelight,
sit in your favourite old rocker and rock to Garfunkel echoing the cabin walls.

Chances are you kicked your clammy
toes from beneath my comforter
And strutted off, without ever strutting back to yank me from your chair.

I curled through that night and cried to the swimming flames,
While you ran out without your mittens.

There are chances.

(c) 1998