The Divine Chess Piece

A Poem by Ayla Automatic

A playful few verses for a man I adore.

He is a divine chess piece
Classier than poker;
A handsome bit of stock to keep around
Even when the chips are down.
A kind of the quality you wouldn't mind just trying
Feeling it around on the inside of your cheeks
loll around on the tongue to let the flavor sink.
The kind of quality you'd never have to see again
One bite and muscle memory congeals so fast and molds so strong
you'd never need to.
I. Wanted. A. Bite.
He is the elegance of dark chocolate
With the intrigue of mint
A little playful, comforting milk cacao
and a hint of dark cherry.
A deep late-night radio voice that could lull
And undress.
Though, the inside of his skull was what I liked best.
He spoke to clouds like they could actually listen;
his mind weaving and mouth seaming
Endless twinds of rhythym and rhyme
My heart began calling him a paragon of paradigm,
After a time.
But of course,
The girl who has everything always want what isn't hers.
And he wasn't mine, he was hers.
Which I could stand, because after all,
I'd never want to spoil an image so grand.
I can appreciate beauty without making it my duty
to ground him solely to Earthly things
By daring to touch those handsome wings.
At any rate
She took great pains to keep him irritatingly close
No more than a yard's breadth away.
It amuses me how such a free spirit could be kept in such a cage
But eventually he, like all the others
Will someday settle for one like their mothers
And God forbid that isn't me.
I'm off to see new things, you see
I love to be witness to the presence of divine Art
But I'll be damned if I can't be a part
Of a man whose womanly shackles subdue him.
Sin, you see, is a funny little thing
Years of bad karma it will surely bring
And if I were her, keeper of a man so divine
I would do almost anything to be sure he stayed mine.
So, no blame I'll put on her feminine frame
But I'll still pine, for that's the name of the game.