Scissors

In a soft love’s sandpaper hand,
walk moving patiently, spider.
Over tender steadfast pulses,
push on- the task of sleepless feet
to the human shores
of a ripening red swell.
Eightfold (be watching, spider)
for what are now your Earth’s red waters,
those that bring you ever gazing
up to the night’s splendor
dancing upon her nature’s
pale mask of unchangeable snow.
Be still; be gentle, spider,
of the bright star
rounded on her pillowed cheek;
a lone bygone song
for you fallen from her fair lips.
I see your adoration for her,
and it will live on
with every one of her breaths
in my memory of the longlegs;
the breath that would take you,
swooning and poised
on her exhalation,
to your death.