Sunday, September 23, 2018

notations for checkmate scribbled on a colectivo pastry bag

Love is sort of like a landslide
and kind of like a chess game,
a beloved being one-half ocean,
the other half jigsaw puzzle.

To fall in love requires
nothing.
(Except a few good lines and beers
on summer nights.)

To stay in love requires
cunning of a general
in the thick of battle—
or at least the strategy
required to trounce your brother
at a game of checkers—

and the humility of
the sand
who endures the surf each day,
endlessly delighted by the monotony—
the glory—
of waves dying constantly
in her arms.

You will be out-played.

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