I see you here Arachne, day after day, your clever fingers toiling at the loom weaving beautiful music from common thread. Your hands, like tiny birds plucking at the loom strings, birthing your stories; warning of the gods and their false tongues, they would have your tongue as your craft is divine. Worthy of their praise, yet defiant, you weave with human eyes. I see your brilliant soul Arachne; it shimmers within you, shimmers right to the surface of your luminous skin. I would have your clever fingers weave of my skin that I could feel the song of your mortal soul, so full of life and artistry. I would taste of your blasphemous tongue, is it as sweet as one that honours the gods? Or is it bittered by your wroth? Stay your quick fingers a moment bitter-sweet Arachne, look upon me as I disrobe you with my guile, what words will tempt you to turn from task and share a cup of wine? I would watch your sweet mouth taste of cup I pour for you, come Arachne, and reach with your clever fingers for mine. Let us lay a while in this glorious grotto, nest of creative spirit, let my thunder enter you, I long to see your soul shudder in ecstasy, let us weave a story of love for you to retell with your craft.
Words by the author writing as errant satiety image by Trung Cao