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I Lost a Bet

The best time to know someone
is when you don’t yet know enough.
Metallic tongues slipping dog-eared
excerpts; cracked smiles sticking
paper masks together.

Moments everything is fascinating;
times every word is effervescent —
we cling.
Discovery is the gentlest unknown,
spine just cracked, the novel’s first third.

Perhaps I do not know you
well enough to write about you, perhaps
I do not know whether you prefer pancakes
or waffles, how you take your coffee
or if you take it at all, what songs
smooth your cracks, or what words
could calm the cratered cacophony
when shattered is the only
best descriptor of your dreams.

But I do know that for one night, if just,
we found a way to make alone
less lonely.

The rest I’m willing to learn.