The Black Widow

she moves in whispers, a shadow draped in midnight silk, trailing poison kisses in the dark-- a promise, a warning, a lullaby of death. her fingers weave unseen threads, spun from sugared lies and honeyed venom, each thread a pulse, a heartbeat, a trembling thing waiting to break. men call her beautiful, never knowing beauty has teeth, has patience, has hunger that does not beg but takes. she does not chase-- only waits, watching the foolish draw near, feeling the tremble in their veins as the silken noose tightens. one whisper, one sigh, one kiss-- then silence.