Ficly

Eight Eyes

Prophetic wetness
slid straight from those
irises.

In the wetness
opposite,
or rather
backwards
psychic tellings
reflected.

Telling what happened

when the booze was slick from
bottle to tongue
and unwillingly
fire exploded in tummies…

And of course a spider would spread her legs.

She would try not to topple over herself,
but its all she can really do.

And that wetness fell from all of her eyes.
One two three four five six seven eight.

Timid and vicious,
she’ll tell you what she means.
Fearlessly, but under pressure
and having a hard time believing reality,
she’ll tell you what she wants to mean.

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