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Black Card

i can’t help but wonder the what-ifs,
when i can’t have these thoughts on strip.
i’m tense as hell and have dropped my guard,
as i lunge, i slip, i’ve lost my grip:

if anyone could fuck this up, it’s me.

’cause i’m wont to be reckless and take
my chances with these stupid dances.
i know me to rush in like a fool,
only to hit off target.

my heart is used to being bruised.

yet here i am asking your intentions, when i think
surely you’d know how to make smoother advances,
and of course you know to keep proper distance.
in your position, you know you’ve no right-of-way.

and though i do, i fear i’d earn a black card.

i like it here,
and i don’t want to leave.
i think i’d rather lose this touch,
than lose the whole game.