Sense

I can sense that you like it

I can feel the regard.

I can flip the next one over

And it still won’t be your card.

I can sense the urge of complacency

Even from this far.

I can twist this poem up so much

They would think I was writing about a car.

I can sense your denial

From a thousand miles away.

Tonight, tomorrow

You still won’t want to play.

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