We had strange names for one another; Blue skies like silk embedded behind stars. I remember pulling my wind through stranded clouds, looking for that one thought that mattered. That feeling of bliss.
Solitary in a network of branches, see recollections of sunlight once wished upon. Between oaken stems the spider wove your mind, a webbed constellation which once held me up, supported me; Whispered to me in velvet shades of the delicate gems drenched in liquid white, all reflections of my true self.
Then the strings of your violin tongue snared the mists of the fae spirits. Judged harshly for its foolishness the butterfly sang to the spider, danced for its many eyes, a brilliant flurry of wings like life and fireworks.
The silver ropes removed the core, and the many-legged arbiter feasted and festered. No more moonlit mirrors, no more bliss. No more face of mine enlightened. Only shadows dusted grey, only preying mares in mindscapes.
Emerald pillows strewn with water dust, glimmering message of hope. Embraced lay the shell of a now discarded artist, awaiting the flood of the rain. To be cleansed, to be free.
We had strange names for one another, the Spider and myself.
We had strange names for the others...
all forgotten now.