From the first glance I could tell she’d been kissed by the sun. Her complexion was ruddy as the Colorado, copper and zinc mixed into her cool waters. Her eyes were deep blue pools of infinite depth, an iridescent, shimmering expanse; I couldn’t look into them for long, had to come up for air. But she could look into mine. Her hair was tied back, and though it was still it seemed to flow like the wind, a brown current that rose and fell without end. She is a radiant sunbeam,

It’s nothing like a chess problem, the toggling ardor, this advance and retreat; forward then back all black, white and cerebral. It’s nothing like chess; like the leather hand stuck to a black bishop I saw in a public park, an ancient mind whirring overhead. It’s not chess, but one could be forgiven for assuming it was that premeditated. More like a dance. An ebb and flow, fluid undulation of hips he pedals her back. She retreats, persists, parries and twists