we don’t let our lips pull apart.

there’s an acknowledgement,

i guess,

in the silence.

we don’t let our lips

pull apart.

just a moment,

filled with the


of our breaths.


i don’t really feel guilty

in taking what i want.

you broke me,


you’re the one crawling on your knees,

begging for my hands

my lips

my heat

my body.


synapses fired

and i had you where i


you must think me a fool

a little bird craving

freedom from the cage of


it was pity, wasn’t it?

but see, the brokenness of me

in the aftermath of your


was not of love.

not of romantic affection.

no. worse,

my confidence fell apart,

the pride i felt in myself was lost

but only for a moment.


you here,

right now,

oh, god does it burn –

the fire in my veins

the curses on my tongue –

i flick my hair over

my right shoulder.

your eyes linger on my mouth

i smile.

you think its surrender

it’s not.


taking a sip of the red wine you ordered for me,

i lean close,

your eyes widen with anticipation,

you lean just so,

i break the silence:

“Good luck”.


this is what it means to be the black widow, i guess.

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