playing the game

Dust doesn’t have time

To settle on the board

Pieces moved too often

To allow for this to ossify

You are mine.

An object, a vessel of my desire

Yet you do not sit on a shelf,

Out of reach and almost out of sight

Stared at until the attention

Causes hairline cracks in the subtle play

Of your spirit

No, you sit in my hands,

Used and given meaning in the use,

Taken with such slow grace

Ravished as the want makes me rapacious,

You, ache and push towards each stab

Of my warm, soft lips

My attention is subject to my own approval

Purpose given room to develop

A will reinforced by circumstance and decision

But I sit at the board,

Pay attention at the moves we make

With one another

We will play

Dance to break down hierarchies

Rebuild them in the loving heat

Of our invention

Published by MBBlissett

Writer. Working on book-length projects and posting fiction and poetry here. You can find more about me here: Represented by SMART Talent Agency ( I am available for writing projects via my agent, Kelly and I look forward to hearing from you.

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