GAMBLERS ANONYMOUS

This is not about a man
enchanted in front
of a slot machine.
This is not about
the eyebrows of people
seated or standing about.
This is not about
the balance of a woman,
dipping at the knees
to serve a drink.
This is about
the darkness of chocolate.
This is not about spinning reels,
tinkling bells or
messages encoded 

in flashing lights.
This not about
the party streamers
of her hair,
how much grace inflates
the life rafts of her lips
or what taunts
in the ringing tone
of her skin.
No, this is simply
about the darkness of chocolate.
About what could
Make it liquid
Between the lips.
This not about a woman
walking past and checking
to see if he's watching.
This isn't even about
which confection he
purchases
as he swipes his card
in the register of longing.
This is not
about a bar.
This is about
the darkness of chocolate.
About how it melts
and who it runs.
This isn't about
the arrowing of eyes
if he doesn't speak or
the mariachi band of
laughter from lips
when he does.
This is not about a man
dreaming of her eyes
lining up on a reel,
not about
a progressive jackpot.
This is about
the darkness of chocolate.
This is about
what gets
wagered on
the tip of a tongue,
what gets
misplaced in a bet,
about what forever
moistens the mouth
on the slow cab ride
from the airport
of possibility
to the center of
the city of sighs.