SUMMARY: Rogue/Gambit poem, answer to Tilman's challenge to write a poem in
a form you've never used. Sestina style.
ARCHIVE: Please. As often as possible and wherever you like.

by Mercutio

Thieves know nothing of love.
To save your heart, you must keep it secret,
wild, untamed, untrammeled, rogue.
If loneliness is torment,
then Gambit
has met that standard with honor.

To the X-Men I owe honor,
To my wife, I owe love.
But inside I'm only Gambit,
my inner self a secret,
my life a hell of torment
and my soul long since gone rogue.

To my family, dis t'ief's de rogue,
my wife's brother murdered, they think I have no honor;
a sinister massacre has left me in torment
with no hope of pity, no hope of love.
The cost to hide this burning secret?
To lose Remy and become only Gambit.

Who could ease this inner torment?
Who would give a damn for Gambit?
Who would dare to give me love?
It would take a daring woman, a thief of hearts,
a willing Rogue
to save my soul and save my honor
and never ask what I keep secret.

But by touching, you'll learn that secret
and I don't want you to share my torment.
I should tell you if I had any honor,
but I've risked it all on this gambit,
hoping you might want this thieving rogue --
Because all I have to give you is
my life, my heart and my love.

And then you kissed me, and found my secret
and it causes us both torment.
Your silence I must honor
while you loathe me, Gambit.
But, listen to me, my chere, Rogue,
you always have my love.

To take a chance is called a gambit.
To separate from the herd is going rogue.
To meld them both -- is it fate, or is it love?

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