Intricate Webs We Weave

Every little wish,

We build from desire,

A rare, fresh-cut flower,

To admire for an hour.

 

Silken deathbed dreams,

A veil across the eyes,

Poison kiss of deceit,

Sings sweet lullabies.

 

A tarnished heart gathers,

Dust from your soul,

Leaves the door to your secrets,

Neither open nor closed.

 

Outwit your foe,

With a wily hello,

Haunt him with love,

And guilt will grow; a rare flower.

 

A rare flower,

Freshly cut, to admire for an hour,

Decorated in the delicate threads,

Of intricate webs, we weave.

 

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