Queen of Hearts

Why write words when they aren't early morning sunlight as emptied streets start filling and pigeons watch in still and gentle trees? Are not the strong bitter-sweet taste of Cyprus coffee as I watch.
     Are not my bitter experiences at the Cyprus Civil Registration and Migration department nor my sweet new van life in the sun. No matter how they are carved or varnished, they can never be promoted. The Queen stands, untouched and untouchable, moving but unmovable, she will take all the pieces in the end, King and all. 
    That flash of brown eye, that fly landing on his nose, the tropical lightening in my bedroom, these are pawns, are not themselves. So why do I carry on moving them? What am I playing against and what do I hope to win?

♠

My first time was rough, felt funny for hours. Not like last time - he dipped every so gently into my body, spun like making candy floss for the Queen. Then the other hole. I felt fright, and lightness. How long until it's ready? Fifteen minutes he says with a warm voice. €5.
    His manner was a long distance from the guard when over forty people were trying to get into the Migration department building. Possibly because of what I was wearing - white shirt, blue shorts, white skin - I managed to get in and hand-in a pre-Brexit form that couldn't be accepted. All the same, as my inspiration to apply dissolved like sexual attraction to someone who makes a racist remark.

♣

An arrogant Lucozade-Orange Porsche growls impatiently past as I slow down for a speed bump in Limassol. I must gently and delicately smooth the stick into first, the suspension is shot, the transmission is clunky. Some can ride over life's bumps at speed and not be damaged, others have grown old, or broken, or are just designed differently. 

♦

Clunky - perhaps that's why I try - to salvage the wreckage of a mind. Can sentences drive me into clearer seeing? In Jalandhar the Himalayas became visible 200km away for the first time in thirty years due to the reduction in air pollution. Perhaps it is the absence of sentences that can reveal what is clear. 

♥

I sliced my finger last night trying to cut a carrot into a pot. Perhaps the Athalassa Forest was chiding me for trying to cook with an open flame. Looking at it now, the clean red line is lifted at the edge like a smirk. 
    Suddenly the midday Azan starts up, joining the cafe jazzy remix music, hammering and drilling next door, some anonymous high-pitched whining and car engines in this sentence.
     Skin can be cut with a knife, trees can be burnt by fire, air can be moved by sound, thoughts can be carved with words. Yet still the Queen stands, untouched and untouchable, moving but unmovable.