She scrawled on a beer mat. Turned a butterfly into a daffodil and he moved closer. He wanted the nectar inside her, a place he would need to slice with a knife to get at.  Her hair shook thunder inside him as he punched the space in between them with his soul clenched.  She looked at him with a certain disdain for life, a ‘who gives a fuck stare’, and kept on moving the pencil making him want her more.  He dug a trench around her in his mind, ‘cross this line and you’ll feel my teeth’. The barman stepped aside from collecting the glasses.  He knew she felt his rage creeping through the wood of the bar, vibrating her paper, her fingers and her blood. She looked up at him vacant with more than a challenged grin on her face.

He wanted to tear the jukebox off the wall and slap her awake but he merely trembled with anticipation.  He glanced at her wrist, in between her sleeve and tattoos and saw her hair, like dandelion wishes kissing each other good morning.  She stepped to him so close that they were sharing each other’s breath.  She hovered there at his lips thinking of something to say, instead she kissed him hard and stabbed his thigh with her pencil. He bit her lip and shoved her back. She stood there, teeth red and grinning.  He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her soul out of the melancholy pit it resided in and turned her sideways.  He refused offers of help from the other patrons in the pub with a “FUCK OFF! SHE’S MINE! I have crawled over mountains and beneath oceans just to see her scratch her face!” She let him drag her out of the pub by her hair like a willing animal.  She left delicate drops of crimson upon the pigeon grey slate which left the patrons wondering.

Outside he pinned her against the wall.  The pencil, still stuck in his thigh, ground in further as he pressed against her.  He turned and slapped her.  His right hand like a hurricane. The shock buzzed around her head kissing her like pretty little violent wasps. He wanted to kiss every part of her ten times over, but first he had to fight the dazzling harlequin, the leprechaun and police. They were everywhere. He readied himself.  She clung to him as he 360’d and lunged.  She clung to his back.  Stanley knife in each of his hands, eyes focused and full of murder.  She gasped at his rage and passion as he slashed red poetry into the night air. She was turned on by his chest heaving and by the electricity arcing off of his body into hers. She licked the sweat from behind his ear and mixed it with her own blood on her tongue. She wanted this night, him, everything he could give and then more.

They cuffed them together and threw them in a black maria. In the shit and shadows they clung together. Into cell two they went. She climbed on him, noticing on the wall ‘Bonnie & clive was here!’.

“Wankers,” she thought as she rode him, loving him until the morrow.

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