From the Eyes of a Spider... an exercise in imagery

Her dreams are often inexplicable horrors. Stealthy, morbid visions representing threats, both imagined and real, that torment her from subconscious thought. A dear friend teases and calls her Persephone. She smiles, relating herself more to Demeter, and refuses to acknowledge the truth. She likes pomegranates and visits the underworld nightly, regardless of the season.

Tonight, however, her sleep is peaceful. She kicks the blankets to the foot of the bed, fighting evening's humidity. It now covers only her delicate feet. Her lily skin upon dark satin sheets provides a mesmerizing contrast. Her freckles and scars scarcely exist in the scant light. She is covered in perfect alabaster clay. She is a statue, a monument... a spell.

Her countenance remains free from the clouds of self-doubt, as her lips and affectionate mouth relax into a thin line. Deceiving eyes of somber gray, hide beneath tender lids and curled lashes. Her exquisite cheekbones suggest a culture loved, but not fully embraced.

Disheveled strands of long, dark hair drape the pillowcase at odd angles. A dance of snake-like shadows...moving as if they have lives of their own. They breathe as she does, waiting in protective anticipation, veiling the blanched skin beneath in utter ambiguity.

Even in sleep her faint arms do her bidding. One hides beneath the pillow, fervently clutching... an anchor to the safe haven of her bed. The other waits, ready to pull her from the jaws of a nightmare at just a moment's notice. Slight hands each end in nails painted red, cleaned with the meticulous hygiene of a cat.

She begins to twitch with the first signs of unconscious desperation. I descend slowly and carefully.

She stirs at my caress, a faint sigh escaping her lips. I pause for a moment, as her breath absorbs the damp summer heat. Her skin is exotic silk. She smells of sweet vanilla.

I find my way along her shoulder, gliding down upon her spine. The hollow of her back conceals a faint tattoo. One resembling an aphid form... a vision of me in midnight ink.

It's here I leave my mark, biting slowly, releasing just a scant amount of venom. The tattoo's ink offers a bitter taste.

I ascend my ethereal line. She has not moved since my first touch; still unaware of my subtle gift....a night of sleep unbroken.....freed from personified demons and ominous dreams.