Two-Step
from Homelands
a Traveling Tales of Waybackwhen book
What a tangled, mangled
web they weave
dancing
with the dewdrops,
mirroring universes
reflected
in each others’ eyes.
Hung up on the harangue,
breath catching
the sticky
sweaty stench
suffocating
beneath the spinning
twirls and dips
however harmless and halting.
Music
strums the heartstrings
and it triggers
something else…
primal
that which
needs to feed
waiting patiently
black widow
wearing white
hourglass
is but a mask.