the web, silver, wet and sticky -she sees.
– how, wonders she, to such a state as this?
His shoulder’s 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
– but he knows, he knows she sees the web strung across the stones there.
–a vibrant living thing and an extension of him,
– he anticipates her next step,
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 into the silver, wet and sticky web and her heart will pump and her mind wake up
– but too late, too late to save herself.
“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.”
And abruptly she walks in
– so abruptly he takes a long sharp breath in surprise
and then sighs in high-pitched delight.
she turns, twisting in the web, imprisoning herself against any hope of escape.
his heart leaps for joy at her predicament.
he rubs his hands in anticipation
– to feel her jolt and tremble as he reaches out to her
to resist at last his touch
– her voice will not sound,
her eyes cannot shut out the terror of him
– nor his appetite.