What if Making Love was like a Game of Chess.

chess-game-free-photo
What if making earth-shattering love,
Was like a game of strategic chess. 
 
You will become soft waves,
Of domination and submission,
 
The knight saddling, the bishop diagonally holy,
The queen going here and there,
 
Sacrificing herself like a pawn,
The gambit of her slender lustful body.
 
And what else, but two pieces
Left on a chess board
 
The foreplay taking care of
Everything else. The knights, bishops and rooks.
 
The kind and the queen,
Black and white mixing madly
 
Like a battle, between colonials and natives.
How the queen dethrones the king in bed,
 
How she can go any distance,
And the king is restricted to one square.
 
How supple the female form is
So many places, tricks and geometries to boast,
 
While the man, has only one move,
Inching a short distance, one square.
 
Isn’t that the case, how love works,
Woman makes all the angles,
 
And man moves a few inches at most
Going up and down, flowing and ebbing,
 
Like a rook, stuck in a vertical line,
Until its checkmate time, when you take
 
The queen in your fingers, and remove the black king.
Synchronized moves, open drawbridges,
 
The castles that get ransacked,
And the mullatos, those little mules,
 
Every move on a chess board becomes,
Carrying the contraband of love,
 
Smuggled inside a palpitating chamber.
The secrets our bodies divulge in earnest,
 
When king interfaces queen,
And love is more than just a game.
 
When an orgasm is not just a confession,
Only the blurred edge, the borderlands,
 
A defining sequence of moves,
When grand master ends,
 
And God begins.
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