Words by: Brooke Wallace ’24

i can’t explain why 

things escalated this time

on this night.

Sp

it used to be

friendly, playful flirting

the slightest touches

enough to be a game.

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you make a move,

brush close, or lean in.

your eyes full of humor,

fingers dancing on my waist.

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my countermove is subtle, 

matching that smile, 

a hand falls on your bicep.

lips graze your ear.

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it’s chess, and how could it not be?

we’re both professionals. 

the pawns move with the banter,

the knights with each touch.

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we’ve never touched 

the king or the queen, 

not that serious, no.

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but we moved a bishop,

didn’t we? 

we complicated the game,

didn’t we?

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your fingers laced with mine,

to cross that 2 a.m. street,

and we held it, whatever this was,

together. 

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sporadically, you’d squeeze,

i couldn’t help but copy you.

occasionally, your thumb stroked mine,

i couldn’t stop the butterflies.

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what we talked about, i can’t recall.

but your half-closed eyes,

warm hand, soft smile,

i remember those. 

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and with the embrace that ended the night,

your body melded to mine,

i wondered

were the rules changing?

Space

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