The spider’s promise

 

The spider weaved her home for prey–
a beautiful woman of no disguise–
her trap exposed before your eyes;
dainty, crisp and plain.

What fool lost his way?
What enemy bent in the battle?
The weak and the brittle,
some moon that waned.

This must be her heart:
a trap and a nest,
a feather and a quest.
A point of no return.

This is the art:
the tongue and the pen
the journey and the den.
Drops of ink to burn.

A moon and web of wax
warred between her lips –
a promise made on side tracks.
It was silent to the scripts.

I let it drink my last drop
I let it fathom my flaws
I let it perch on pity
I let it scrape my scabs

Again. And Again.

I let this promise’s sigh evaporate. Helpless.

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