I am not any
of the pieces
you play
in your chessboard
that when you feel
the odds
of winning
you eagerly pick
and disdain
as you feel
defeat drawing
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
