It’s so easy to snatch you
up, lure you in, snag
the pulsing, hammering,
scorching cardiovascular
muscle lain neatly
in your chest cavity
for me to pluck with
one of eight arms, like
a rotten apple from
its sinful tree.
You are so entranced
by the bulbous engorgement
of my thorax;
positively engaged in the
scarlet hourglass emblazoned
on my back to count the
hours before your ultimate
demise. You don’t even notice
my attractive spinneret,
working so veins of
gossamer
web tangle themselves to your limbs.
stuck.
They rip and wrap
and conceal and deny
and restrain. Any will to resist
siphons out of
your ensnared physical
being.
My fingers, long,
black,
many,
curl down
your esophagus.
Choke.
Choking.
Choked.
Jaws gnash;
incisors crush;
flesh smashed. It
smears its bloody
footprints on the inside
of my window
brain