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Your shirt is checkered,
Red and White.
I trace the squares lingering on the pointed edges - sharpness.
You are red;
passion, feeling, intelligence.
Music fills you up and you explode of sound and harmony.
I wonder how the checkers mesh;
the pattern is enchanting almost rhythmical.
The white - me - plain, pale, fragile.
Anything can stain white and it will forever be tarnished.
It is gray and solute outside.
Dim reflections from the streetlights peek through the back windows,
and the screen of the closed patio.
The soft flicker of light from the candles play across your grooved cheekbones.
You move the bishop and I know you will shortly win.
I'll soon have to surrender as you're moving over the red squares diagonally.
My Queen will be killed; because I am useless,
at chess, at protecting, at hiding -
I will be exposed; you will take my queen and then my king will follow.
The black squares -
dark, depressed, solumn.
I know I have to surrender soon.
You took your checkered shirt from the dryer.
The red ran into the white staining it.
It was difficult to define where the lines were drawn.
Making its Mark.
You Smile "Check Mate", I sigh and fall into your arms as you flick over my King.
The lines are smudged between the red and white, the black and the red - and that is what I feared most;
the vulnerability of the white is so fragile the black to consumed by the colour.
The protection was fought down, I knew you were a force of passion I couldn't hide from.
Edging your way into the black; black - heart.
The Red Took Me Over.
There are no more boundaries just love.
I lose reason and logic and forget the pain that could come after.
You will stay solid - red - untarnished.
The white checkers are not as dominant, they mesh without prevention.