This may be about
the cravings in the mouth
of a man with few front teeth
standing by a Wizard of Oz slot machine
for three or more hours,
staring into the darkness.
Or about what desire
crosses the faces of people
seated at nearby machines
or the wheel of patter between them.
Maybe someone once said
that chocolate is just
desire barred.
This isn't about everything
happening for a reason,
except the things that don't,
or about a human brain
always finding patterns
in the numbers of a roulette wheel
even when there might
only be the illusion of one.
Roulette means “small wheel.”
This could be about reasons
being patterns in the small wheels
of our minds.
This could be about
the divine grace
of a certain waitress,
dipping at the knees
to serve a Chocolate Martini.
Or about the darkness
filling the glass she serves,
but this is not about the darkness
in the skin of chocolate.
This might be about melodies
made by spinning reels
or tinkling bells or
a pattern that could
be encoded in the sequence
of the lights.
Perhaps this is about
the all night party streamers
of the waitresses' hair,
about what inflates
the life rafts of her lips,
what taunts in the dark sea
of her skin or what spins
in the small wheels of her eyes.
But, this is definitely
not about the darkness
in the center of chocolate.
Not about how many degrees of heat
could make it liquid
between the lips.
This wants to be about
a woman walking
past and checking
her side view mirror
to see if he's watching
and is almost about
which mixed drinks he
may or may not sip
behind the darkness of sunglasses
as she swipes his debit card
in the register of longing.
This could be about a bar
or what resembles candy in her smile..
This is not about the darkness
in a sentence of chocolate.
Not about how it
melts and sticks.
This may be about
how the arrows of some eyes
narrow if he doesn't speak or
the mariachi band of
laughter from certain
lips when he does.
This is likely about
a no name man
standing in front of a bank
of thieving machines
dreaming of bars
lining up in a pattern
on a reel,
probably about
a progressive jackpot.
About how we invent goddesses
to explain the patterns
of darkness in our luck.
This is not about the darkness
at the center of chocolate.
This seems to be
a smile through
reclining eyelids
or a soft lick
of the lips
afterwards.
But this can’t be about
what gets
wagered on
the tip of a tongue
or about being
lost in a bet,
and definitely
doesn't involve
the name of a goddess
dissolving in his mouth
on the slow cab ride
from the airport
of possibility
to the dark shadows
at the center of
the city of half sighs.
