For a million minds pull forth on the string, connecting us all in a web on three axes. Would the spider think of gems on the vine, that intersect it's cross-stitch and pretend to prismatic dew, or seaspray on invisible lines?
Nocturnal now; crepuscular; stalking his prey: a dream to be had and thoughts to be chased, but chaste no longer in his thirst for sating. She bends in willing acceptance, as tree bows to wind; the flickering sparkle of rhinestones and diamonds, only proven to the expert eye, or the testing of pressure; in the flames of a sun.
Her dew is fresh and welling beside; the scent on the air, floats into the night; a baited hook to pull him in, her ears turn about in said direction, heart palpable and strong, excited yet anxious, as steam rises from chest and flush, forgetting to think; his breath is upon her.
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