The object of prompt #3 is to write about something you fear. While I have deeper fears, my rather new fear of the brown recluse screams to be addressed.

The poem:

Dark fiddler, knees bend, extend, bend, alternation
To crawl creep crawl, scurry along the edge,
Baseboards I creeped to dust when I was small,
Crushing Arachne as I did, all in fun.

Had the power gone to my head? Likely,
This was true–I held your life in my hands,
Life and Death, God to your tiny form, but
You were venom memory, my flesh flavor hope.

You came for me, your eyes dancing and that
Mouth slick to whet your appetite, glisten hint
At what you’d do to me, my lily flesh gourmet
Delicacy. Your fangs prongs to pierce and tame me.

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