"🐈‍⬛♟️"

White moves first—
its warmth pools like honey,
spilling across the cold grid.

Black follows, intent,
a counterpoint: paw to shadow,
soaking in white’s fractured play.

The horizon swallows day's giver.
White resigns.
Still, Black’s game goes on,
seeping into my chest, held—
a whispering stalemate,
until morning comes.