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.