In the shadow sits the temptress,
greasy black and ripe with seed,
waiting for an anxious suitor
who is overcome with need.
To approach her on the sticky bed
she wove with so much care
and partake of deadly pleasures
with the beauty lying there.
Two strangers become lovers,
tangled in their danse macabre —
thrashing legs which come together
in a quick spasmodic throb.
Too soon the night is over
with a paralyzing kiss
and she knits a silken death shroud
around his frozen bliss.
A widow when the dawn breaks,
she surveys her work with pride —
for soon her young will feed upon
what mother set aside.
A poem about our nemesis – my husband almost lost a leg to one of these black beauties – and even though we rid ourselves of them as quickly as we can, you have to admire the self-sufficiency of the female. I posted a nice photo of some newly emerged (though short-lived) babies as well.