spinnerets.

she shed light upon my cave the other day.
and though it still revealed webs convoluted across the walls
my frustration was partially relieved
by the points of origin that I saw.

she said the fluidity of my sexuality exacerbated my confusion,
wrapped the silk thread
around the posts of my bed
and while you are inside me this is what is inside my head;

this is what begs that you penetrate me
with every bone, every muscle, every nerve in your body;
this is what begs that you build a bridge between
the essence of you and the essence of me.

but there is a thought that leaks from your mind,
a feeling that slips from your heart
down to your groin and between my thighs;
specifically, particularly between my thighs,
the lips, the fleshy fruit that drips
the inherent lure that you can not deny.

this propensity that nearly defines your sexuality
is the difference between the spider and its casualty,
the semen that coats the thread, so serpentine,
the salted waves that collide and break inside my spleen.

fluidity breeds disinclination breeds concentration;
whittle down the wood to the earliest demarcation;
sweet suckling of fruit is but a biological march
if it abstains from intimate appreciation.

and so, in my cave I dance all day
with spiders and their prey;
avoiding gaps and cracks
that infinitely separate you and me.
I do not mean to insult to you in any way,
only to reflect upon the spinnerets
I had discovered when she shed light upon my cave.