Ts’ki

One sentence of two
is twice unwritten by Fate,
whether it’s served:

Fire on ice, shaken, wanting
just us, alone, quiet, dark.

I have made my mind.
“Up to you. Forget me, not.”
I take my chances.

There is more than one option;
there are, to many, choices.

One may die innocent,
square as the day is round,
or live with guilt thereof.