The cards have been dealt.

The queen of pentacles is the first to approach.
She promises me riches beyond all imagination.
Her haughty demeanor does not appeal to me at all.
Even so, she has great worth, and so I cannot discard her.

The queen of wands comes quickly after.
She catches my eye with her provocative dances.
There is a fire in her eyes that pulls me in.
I will keep her, in case I forget the meaning of passion.

The queen of cups sits alone in the corner.
From her throne she gazes at me longingly.
I am unsure if I hold her, or if she holds me.
She will be the fall of me.

The queen of swords floats across the floor.
She is late because she has been lost in thought.
I often wonder why she is so cold.
Perhaps it is because of the three other queens in my hand.

These cards have become worn down by my hands.