the game

Our games only end

when letters have been

knocked from the board

queened by emotion.

Invisible moves

unmarked but remembered

fade into a dance

the sway we shoulder in the hips

balanced on the cold kernels of our toes.

Brushed like a breath

on the nape of the neck

a sharp exhale of your laugh

a surprise I only hear

in response to this voice.

Any game comes to an

end when the cards have

played out, or the last piece is

placed down, nothing left

before us.

Its up

when the winners

accept they can't

take anymore.