you think i will love you less if you reveal more of yourself,
but i've learned that people aren't built like magic tricks; their
enchantment doesn't come from what's in front of your face.
so throw out your deck of cards, let loose the chains.
set your rabbit free. you don't need to pull something out of a hat
in order to keep me mesmerized. the show i want is less
illusion and more introduction. waving a plastic wand and
counting to three can't conjure the words out of your throat;
only you can do that. you've sawed yourself in half, tied your
wrists with a burning rope, escaped from tanks of half-frozen water,
all to convince an audience that you exist to disappear, to dance
among flames and never tell anyone how you escaped the burn.
but i did not volunteer to take part in this trick; i would rather
hold your hand than find out what's hidden up your sleeve.
at night, you hold me and whisper in my ear, pick a card.
but even i can predict the one that will appear in my hand.
a seven, for the number of times you've refused to turn on the lights,
even after the smoke has run out and we are completely alone.
and a suit of hearts, namely, my heart, the one i must settle for
when i ask for yours and you offer me a mirror instead.
a magician never reveals his secrets, this much i know.
but i've long since learned that fireworks are packages
of gunpowder and lights stained with chemicals, not magic.
i'd love you even if i opened your chest to find you the same.