La Giustificazione or A Mortal Comedy

We walked, we waited. William wanted not to wither in the wind. Whining wailed against Whitney's wits. “Wait, William, we won’t warrant woe with a whistle,” she wagged. Waving wagging a tongue with a will. Wouldn’t we what wild ones wrought? Wanting not to witness Whitney watched widdershins. What would we will? Will that we won't?

Whitney's wayward wants wouldn't waive my will. Withered white my will wolfed William wet and withered with the wind. Whipped and whacked I would wolf him whole. Whistling Whitney would watch not. Whistling wagging, I wanted William while Whitney would not wake. Waggling whipping his whining waned.

Waking Whitney I wanted that whistle. Wailing Whitney wanted warmth within what he left wasted. “What would warp your work?” she wailed. “Would wax the wind within William's chest, what would you want?” What wonderful willingness. I wanted Whitney with wild wantonness. Would you not welcome Whitney's wishes?

“What would you wager?” wondered I. With my words Whitney wobbled of worriment. “Where would your words wander from, stranger?” She worried.

“Where wishes wound and wants wince. Where the winds washed William since. My word wriggles from wrecked warships and wasted steps walked witlessly whether wicked or warm. William walked wet in the wind and waited for my storm. My word wracks the whole wide world, he will wallow in its warehouse.” Whitney walked wearily within me. I watched what fate would write, whetting my wish for Whitney.

“Well,” Whitney whispered, “I would wager me whole, willingly, within you.” What wheezing and whimsy, Whitney wrought such witticism.

“Why?” wondered I “What walkway whereby you washed willfully into my wallow? Was William well enough to wear that woebegone hollow? I wouldn't want you wrenching words from worth but what weight is in Whitney?”

“Whitney was widowed,” she wept “What warmth would she warrant widowed from the world? Wedding me and willing a whistle on Williams waft would be my whole wish when furled.”

With that we walked, we waited. “Will with me Whitney! What weary whim withered within your chest, what wistful wishes wheeled me within your breast. Wet my lips wistfully your whole white width. What wistful wishes the world would waste. When we withdraw we’ll do weightier work than taste.”

“Why not? Whatever will you would with which my wish would be wrapped. Wet my whiteness or what will you would, I'm trapped.”

Whitney fell wingless within my withered will. What wonderful words I whispered as we withdrew. William woke wet on the walkway whirling with vague washed out woolgatherings. Woke with the dreamlike wraith of the white cross to his wit. Whitney waned within me. We walked, we waited. What would you will? Will that we won't?