careful fingertips trace the apples of her cheeks, gentle & cautious, as if his hands were a dangerous zephyr and her cheeks autumn leaves, threatening to scatter with the slightest breeze ( it is not irrational fear, for how many times have those same hands adorned her skin with purples and reds ? )
( 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.
@itsybitsywidcw // cont.
