Wrapped Up Tight

Opening
I’ll meet you on the corner of H and 3 she’d said, and I’d taken her at her word. Her coffee had been black, the ice cream, single split spilt chin dribble a white I couldn’t possibly comment on. My hands wringing, heat scarred, lined singed and oven branded, my ring wrapped finger a constant touch stone and worry bead. Service bell ringing I walked the checker board floor back to the depth dark griddle, next looking up to find her, gone.

Middle-Game
I’ll meet you on the corner of H and 8 I’d said, and she had turned up late. My heart a sunless flutter of forgotten promises. Until. Until she turned the corner, my darkest thoughts flashed out in golden expectation, the elastoplaster of her kisses adhering to self-inflicted wounds.

End-Game
I’ll meet you on the side by G and 4 she’d said, and two hours I’d waited by the cafe door. By then I’d known, worked it out late. The rook stole the show, air grasped from clutching tallons, reflexive.
There was nobody to see it happen.