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Spider
"A Saint," they said, "a Saint!" And there she lay, naked, entranced, in her cell. I wove my web between the stiff rapt thighs. They held their breaths in awe to see the cunning of the veil I spun from the hate in my gut on that spotless place, for Iam the Lady of Traps- my every lover's post-coital sadness meets my bite; I hoe their legs at the joints; I crunch up armour. Yet she lay easy, breathing but unmoving, trapped by her soul into stillness. Tate flies between the lips of her vulva. She never stirred but the once, to whisper "Beloved. . ." Was I the adored? I, the Lady of Silence? I choke mouths, blind eyeballs, shroud the tombs. Tam the dream that drifts through palpitations. I slide my net across the coupling buttocks of Mars and Venus, the agent of shame and wisdom. I crouch at the centre garnering paralysis, waiting. . .. Could I be dear to any trapped or victim? Who is the victim? The buzzing of prayers has ended. I scuttle to supper.