the web, silver, wet and sticky.
– how, wonders she, to such a state as this?
His shoulders stooped,
his voice high pitched, his hands cupped and curled,
“Do you like the web, my dear?”
“No,” says she
and he chuckles at her deadened voice and vacant stare.
– Resistance is equal in taste so he waits for the vibrant living thing.
–An extension of himself the web lures like a jewel.
A lover of sorts, awaiting her approach,
He resists rubbing his hands together and licking his lips.
– Soon enough to savor her terror
– Soon enough with just one more step
she will enter the silver, wet and sticky web and her heart will pump and her mind awake
– too late.
“Why my dear do you hesitate?
Look at the silver and the beauty of the weave—a beautiful thing for your hair,
a beautiful wrap for your shoulders my dear, now bare.”
Abruptly she walks in
– so abruptly the web stretches against her strength, his breath intakes sharp and surprised,
then sighs out in a high-pitched delight.
She turns, twisting entwining her arms, her fingers, her feet against the sharp silver-cold web he continually creates.
Jolt and tremble, silent screams upon her features, he reaches out for her
savoring her trapped existence.
“Softly my dear, softly. My appetite takes only sips of existence before the gulp of annihilation.”