A web of sexual entanglements
invisible when soaked in daylight.
Silver lace glistening in the moonlight,
a life of secrecy – powdered.

Hoodwinked, the cobweb’s faint hair
dusts itself upon my moon-struck face.
Web quivers as wind hustles –
masticates the delicate spine
of the chained net.

A broken web, soothly spun
into a rekindled wisp.

 

By Heather Wells