An Arachnologist's Confession

She dances beneath an upturned glass, her legs spread wide for all the world to see.

I watch her glide across the clear surface, pinching the air, making silent prayers. Silver threads coil around her feet, crisscrossing ribbon trails with every step. She watches me, eyes aglow with hate. I watch her, hand inside my pants.

I imagine her caressing my neck, making giant tides in my sensory riverbed. I imagine her sinking into my flesh—her venom, my blood, merging into one.

She thinks she’s in there while I’m out here, but truth is, we’re in the same space. I keep her in a glass prison. She keeps me in between her legs.

It’s a marriage.


Editor’s Corner

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