Pillage

    It's chess of sorts but
    reeks of you -
    the hand carved emerald rook, for one,
    and so many Black & White squares
    that tiptoe like many a patio stone
    between our warring minds.

    I think of rollaway mats
    lepers use to beg on,
    habitually to die on
    or marked cards that
    outside castle walls
    dicers' oaths
    must originate from.

    I am having trouble
    keeping the pieces straight.

    I mean, you're White
    & concluded the beginning of the end
    with first move; still, I'm prepared
    for nothing short of winning.

    Should we discuss this
    growing stalemate near
    the Bishop's mitre
    and exploding gun
    or against hungry faces of expendable pawns
    raging, as they say, across Seas of Galilee
    on that first night of Storms?

    And, when pressed during attack,
    is it proper logistics
    to prepare the drawbridge,
    fondle another dart
    for a King's crossbow,
    then advance at parapets
    with scalding liquid,
    the oily spillage
    of our tongues?