by Aleta Gantt
(Yakima, WA)
He tiptoes along a gnarled vine
Weaving as he goes
With glossy thread whisper fine
Spun in gossamer webs
Creating a snare of a different kind
Her heart he hopes to hold
In silken rope his love he binds
And takes them to their bed
She surrenders to his soft sleek ties
Her heart no longer cold
And sinks into his love sublime
With trust and not with dread
With exquisite care he takes his time
His punishments so bold
All the while his knots unwind
Til beneath them they are spread
Still she dwells in his love divine
And with gauzy threads of gold
He weaves them to the gnarled vine
Two souls a single web
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