Thorn covered vines
across the floor they creep,
bonfire like crackling.
Blooming black roses
born brittle and
dead.
Webs on my face
hold open my
eyes.
The shadows release her,
forcing me to watch.
Twining up her legs
and around her body,
vines reach up through her hair,
she's by the door one minute,
standing over me the next.
My temperature drops.
Still, her voice,
I hear in my head.
Sound I can't make,
spider webs all over
me.
Your own
fear of death draws you in.
On my face spiders crawl,
to her arms they leap
across, together they knit
us,
by flying back and forth.
The sound of her
voice,
sends a chill up my spine.
While the webs
lock us into place,
staring at one at each other.
As the moon slithers
across the sky,
and all the stars fall asleep.
As her voice fades
I wake to find,
it all a dream.
The only
image greeting my
waking mind,
is a collage with your picture,
imbedded in it forever.
It's the first thing I look at
when I wake,
and the last before I sleep.
The webs
come back to my mind,
linking us together
across time,
across dreams,
and through the thorn,
covered,
vines.
