Just a few pawns and a king is all that’s left.
The game is made from moves of steel,
seemingly meaningless.
One of the pawns turns itself into a queen.
Oh, how the game has changed.
The swish of the dress, the sparkling eyes, her scent.
The knowing smile that overtly predicts his downfall.
The king is lost, he knows it.
She glides towards him, taunting him, playing with him.
Calling on the assistance of a few more pawns to bind him, enclose him within her lair.
Mate is a few subtle moves away.
Moves that she is more than qualified to make.
He looks at her, breath shallow, taking one step backwards.
An anxious look of desperation on his face. Nowhere is safe.
She will take her prize easily – make him submit.
He is hers. He must realise it, in the same way she knows it.
And yet with a smile, he finds nowhere to go.
He can’t step here or there. He can’t step anywhere.
His eyes lock onto hers,
The smile on his face, evident.
A sudden realisation abounds, her resolve crumbles in disbelief.
The shake of the head, the drop of her lower lip – she knows.
Her power, useless, as her prey raises his hands and in that instant announces.
“Stalemate.”
She nods her acceptance,
And in one false move, her dress falls to the floor.
The last move is hers alone as he waits to be taken.
