I could have helped you spin your straw,
like Rumpelstiltskin, into gold.
I could have set your poet’s mind
on fire, on greatnesses untold.
You could have, like Rapunzel, let
your hair down as, my heart all throbbing,
I coaxed from you far sweeter than
your soulless odes to casual nobbing.
It seems though, you prefer the bed-hop
and the straight flush and full house.
What makes you think that gambling’s red-hot?
Shove your poker up your arse.
