Too Many

Cameras with angel wings grant us access
To footage from aerial angles in the aethereal sphere,
Circling round two players playing chess,
With their legs folded, on top a tufted circular bed
Bordered by ivory satin sheets that mimicked
Mosquito net canopies,
They’d sway dreamily,
Flapping gently in the oceanic breeze.
Pieces hastily given away by shortsightedness,
Where trust, built timelessly,
Was mistakenly misplaced inside a game.


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