I'd like to French-kiss whoever invented this butterful, flakey treat...

Under an ass is a place that it’s found. Shoes fit straight to this, is a game that rings round. It’s known for it’s clipping and clopping like sound. Equivalent on equine to the feet we are bound.

In a realm of sixty-four squares, she strides with grace unmatched, her power extends in every direction, commanding the board's vast expanse.

Three silent legs, I do not stride, yet lift what human hands can’t guide. Canvas, lens, or oracle above, I serve the eye, the art, the dove.

Locked in this place, A keeper of things unkept, Down here secrets hide. A mimick, a vampire, a bride?