Melitadala - Melita

england is a cup of tea.

france, a wheel of ripened brie.

greece, a short, squat olive tree.

america is a gun.

brazil is football on the strand.

argentina, maradona's hand.

germany, an oompah band.

america is a gun.

holland is a wooden shoe.

hungary, a gulash stew.

australia, a kangeroo.

america is a gun.

japan is a thermal spring.

scotland is a highland fling.

oh, better to be anything

than america as a gun.

- brian bilston

Dinner & Diatribes : A Bucky Barnes songfic

this is my piece for @itsbuckysworld summer writting contest,hope you all like it <3 Honey this club here is stuck up

Dinner and Diatribes You got to be kidding me. Hoz is singing my favourite song of his and I am currently in front of the chemical toilet with a big fat W scripted on the door.

I knew well from our first hookup

The look of mischief in your eye

Every female in the perimeter is pretty much sprinting towards the venue screaming the lyrics. Except from the one occupying the toilet. No chance of me reaching the stage before the song ends.

Your friends are a fate that befell me

Hell is the talking type

I'd suffer hell if you'd tell me

What you'd do to me tonight From the men’s room exits a handsome young man, whose hands are trying -and failing- to fix his chocolate locks into a man bun. One of his arms is shining in the moonlight and I assume it’s some advanced kind of prosthetic. His eyes are the color of the sea after the storm.

Tell me

Tell me

Tell me

That's the kinda love

I've been dreaming of

That's the kinda love

I've been dreaming of He winks playfully at me and he motions smoothly with his head towards the men’s toilet behind him. I hesitantly step closer and he murmurs loud enough for me to hear: “No one will notice”

Honey I laugh when it sinks in

A pillar, I am of pride

Scarcely can speak for my thinking what

You'd do to me tonight

My foot pocks something smooth but solid on the plastic toilet floor. Seeking with my fingertips in the dark I discover a leather wallet. Stepping outside in the moonlight, I carefully take out an ID. The card is old and plastered with  different kind of patches. It’s surely the man from before only with short hair, clean-shaved face and some kind of soldier uniform from the 1940’s…He can’t be that old. Now that the evening is slowing

Now that the end's in sight

Honey, it's easier knowing what

You'd do to me tonight And he couldn’t be that far, I left him here 5 minutes ago. I search frantically in the pitch black darkness as I strole swiftly through groups of people. “James B. Barnes” How do you lose a man with a metal arm? Light shining on metal and a pair of blue orbs starring puzzled back at me. I wave my arm and return his belongings and once they are safe in his pockets, I lean in the coolness of his metal arm and I scream directly in his ear so he can hear me: ‘Please tell me you are not 100 years old!”

Tell me

Tell me

Tell your man

 That's the kinda love

I've been dreaming of

That's the kinda love

I've been dreaming of

That's the kinda love

That's the kinda love

That's the kinda love

That's the kinda love... “First thing in the morning you get a new ID”

Ohhhh

Let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised

And that kind of love

Ohhhh

Let there be damage ensued and tabloid news

And that kind of love “It’s vintage”

That's the kinda love

I've been dreaming of

That's the kinda love

I've been dreaming of

‘til death,we do art (painting by Rene Magritte)