I fall into myself.
Like a fever.
Like a spider round a meal.

Sometimes
my arms are not my own.
Sometimes
my dreams exceed my desires
and the web is plucked
and I hum sticky sweet
and I promise all earnest and prim
not to humble you with my greed.

But sometimes
I eat the air
Sometimes
from all lungs at once
and the web is plucked
and I hum sticky sweet
and I promise all smoke and fury
to eat your eyes last.

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