#itsybitsywidcw

(  love’s time’s beggar, but even a single hour, bright as a dropped coin, makes love rich / time hates love, wants love poor, but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.  )

          quiet protest is caught in a 1950s night, all secretive kisses & furtive glances. he tastes fear & exhaustion on her lips, exhaustion which comes with a lifetime too long, exhaustion which cannot be cured but for death’s sweet touch. he’d come to know that exhaustion too well in her absence, manifesting in tired defiance & silent frustration instead of dark circles.

( time slows, for here we are millionaires, backhanding the night so nothing dark will end our shining hour, no jewel hold a candle to the cuckoo spit hung from the blade of grass at your ear, no chandelier or spotlight see you better lit than here. now. )

          ❛  i’m sure he’ll understand i had a very, very IMPORTANT matter to take care of.

FIFTY REASONS TO HAVE SEX.

you could’ve gotten us killed !

frantic hands grip hard at blemished flesh, leaving browns & reds & purples in their wake.   lips mimic the arrhythmic movements, frenetic in their motions, not taking their time to EXPLORE the bruised skin as usual, to lightly trail over the imperfections in silent APOLOGY, as gentle as the sound of water lapping soft &sweet on the shore, as the smell of sweet pollen saturating the air in spring ; there is no LOVE in their grips, tonight, only rage & fear, concealed from their faces but palpable on their skin, in their lips, teeth, teeth which graze & cut & paint flesh with shades of anger.

what were you thinking?

a sound escapes one of the shadows, choked & strained, neither pain nor pleasure.   there is no telling which shadow it belongs to, as the shadows sink TOGETHER, mould into one as if, all along, it was meant to be, as if a mistake had split one being, one soul into two when cast out the heavens, two beings doomed to roam the earth INCOMPLETE, praying to one day reunite with their other half ; the greeks had myths about it, a PUNISHMENT from the gods bestowed upon humanity to weaken them.   it is only in the darkness, when the shadows reunite as one, tightly coiled around one another, that they feel COMPLETE, that they feel as if they could take on the gods themselves.   they do not speak, only breathe, touch, but the unspoken words sit heavy on their fingertips.

                 && she's wrapping her knuckles when she notices   (  soft white 'gainst pallid flesh red tinted && angry. punching bags hurt, she's since come to learn && she's fragile, human despite gifted abilities. never the physical one, couldn't throw a proper punch to save her life 'til she walked away from her third protest with a black eye && it had been decided self defense was not limited to elbows && keenly aimed shoes yet, even then, there was always lurking threat of exerted force coming back against fragility of hand.  )

                                        (  she winces at the memory.  )

                                                 ❛                  natasha ??     ❜

               almost calls her something else.  '  tashka  '  almost completing trek 'long slick of tongue 'fore teeth form shield && it goes bitten back. memory of another natasha lingering, big && ugly && not very nice save when she took a baton to the head so wanda didn't have to. there is hesitance in steps as they lead her closer matching sentiment held hidden within recesses of moniker as it goes called.   (  does not doubt that widow notices it all the same.  )           ❛    i don't ...                 ❜          she is not good at this, never has been but she wants to. needs to. compulsion thrumming through scarlet painted veins. she has no choice. feels it necessary with this new path in life.