I don’t know why I weave the webs I do - for sport or perhaps
some greater desperation bubbling up from oceans deep
where demons pace prisons and dead things sleep.
So where do you come in?
Are you among my demons now, rattling bars and hoping to run free?
I listen close for loose chains and faulty locks...
...or do you hold the key?
When you growl low and close it grows hard to tell
if it’s demons or sirens I hear -
it grows hard to tell if I hear demons or if I am one.
Or maybe the panther slinking
through the night has golden eyes like mine
simmering with words of caution
as the thoughts of a predator run rampant
through the dark jungles of my mind.
Each toss of my hair is a flick of a tail,
flirtatious and devastating, inviting and deadly...
but you creep closer anyway, with muted murmurs
and calm stealth, trying not to scare me
with slow hands moving sure and steady.
Is it demons, or just the impressions
of your feet on the sidewalk behind me?
I turn to see, meeting eyes clouded over
with lust and uncertainty - eyes that want it all -
to grab with both hands this mystery
and shake free all of the secrets that you have for me.