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.
Copyright © Alesia Leach | Year Posted 2025
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