Arachne and red lace.  I wish that the memory would perish 
so that the venom borne by metal fangs would leave these veins. 
a fire unworthy.  a passion and an arrogant weakness not to cherish,
but to serve as an example to those who dare to tread the spun chains 
of gossamer pheremones.  they look so fragile when distant...
but they are stronger than cobalt steel, and should a man seek his vanity 
in seizing them for a swift moment, he will find they turn that instant
into an eon, a lifetime, of scorched emotion and ravaged sanity.  
the venom is sweet and fiery, 
it answers prayers and fulfills fantasies 
that none dare even whisper except within
the spinnerets' weave.  it makes a mockery
of your heart and a trap of the tender
seas you once treasured.  it makes the dead, 
for the living, grieve.
the crimson timepiece is a friend 
when the desire for the fire drives us on, 
Arachne urging with practiced spontaneity and thirst...
thirst for the blood of new paramours...
for soon she tires of your taste...and leaves you, 
in her path, pale and cursed.


copyright William F. DeVault (wfdv)