eyes closed, head first,
I fall at night into a world
where mesmerising creatures
of ethereal shapes and colours
lie suspended in a sea of joy - and sorrow
while a siren gently sings
a cryptic love song,
until I reach her
at the bottom.

Gracefully over the squares, as a blonde or a brunette,
she makes moves that not even a queen can imitate.
Always active and taking the initiative,
she likes to fork.
She does it across the board,
taking with ease not only pawns, but also kings,
and a bad bishop or two.
Sometimes she feels like making
quiet moves,
at other times, she adopts romantic moods,
and makes great sacrifices.
But, being hers a zero-sum game,
she  often forks just out of spite.
An expert at prophylaxis, she can be a swindler,
and utter threats,
skewering men to make some gains.
Playing  with her risks a conundrum,
and also catching Kotov’s syndrome.
Nonetheless, despite having been trampled
by her strutting ways
my trust in her remains,
unwavering,
until the endgame.

I like to watch your beautiful hands
moving in sync with the stars,
as they slowly, rhythmically put me in a trance.
In a daze I still wonder:
Was it not just a moment ago that you said
'the night is still young'?
Don't stop now your elegant, beautiful hands;
keep  stroking, keep lashing, keep fondling...
and then, at dawn, when it is time to go,
wake me up with a whisper
soft and warm  in my ear,
and one final caress
of your beautiful hands.
---

November 16, 2011