Red Litmus

Red Litmus strings for what has been done.
There is no choice between one and the other.
I write my lines in grids across your back
As you walk the cobbled streets
With she, who meant nothing.

Play speed-moves on the squares of welts.
Knight moves no longer to protect the Queen.
She is slumped over the elbows of herself
Beheaded temples in the palms of honest hands,
And when I turn her to look deep into dying eyes
I am again the pawn, one square step after the other, forward,
Sacrificed anytime; or to walk, wake forlorn on the end line
Looking like a little bishop, begging,
To be transformed.