Playing Chess

Playing Chess

I moved my pawn
To simply move forward
Casting them like servants
Into a volcanic pit, to hope my feet will bare their journey
They sleep dead, rot ironed in His hands
As He slowly reaches over
and tucks it in her headdress
Of the many he’s collected
She, purple lipped and poised
As his current queen, statured sits with lucid marble
Dining of pearls and foreign fingerprints
Unmoved of her emotions
He touches the white of the board
The crevices mapped out pink in flesh
Rippling his thoughts,
Fore headed somewhere fevered and bored
Vacant of only getting lost in a masquerade ball
Ruffling golden pilots and pretty faces
Witty and gay in shattered drunken laughter
He sits as a spoiled boy with coned shape hat
Softly sly, he throws his queen at me
And plucks a pawn from the headdress
from the broken lady sitting next to him