Late night, spiders whisper "Don't start, no,
don't dream. Not tonight."
They are wise, widows aware that
stardust is just soul ashes.
Verbal, he's sharp – Aries.
I'm on the tip of his ram horns,
And I'm giddy with his wit, his sweet insensitivity.
Touch me, daring Aries,
even in my fantasies.
Widow spiders are window spiders
and they can weep for me.
But I, I'm having the time of my life
even as I'm dying.
Kiss me goodbye – dry tongued angel –
A shooting star is all I am: falling, so obviously,
Down...and shedding all I am along the way.