Lost somwhere between the huntress
and the hunted,
Intricate webs are spun from these wide legs,
from secret places,
you yearn to inhabit,
You cannot leave now,
I must sip your soul,
like black widow,
I eat you,
alive.
There is no design,
Known to the spinner,
Who only sees the shine,
of the thread,
Being caught in her own trigger
she only sees sustanance,
the dead have no tales,
let me please you
before you are eaten, and only the eggs remain.
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