I'm a sort of lover with spiders in her heart, spindly creatures with fangs of sharp hurt. I don't love lightly, with sun or warmth, my love is like the moon, dark clouds over inky skies. Don't mistake my affection for the pale blue of my eyes, the silver there isn't shimmering. I'll take you in my arms and hold you precisely because I too know what terror is. I feel it when I dream and awaken, seeing shadows in my room. I'll write endlessly about you, turn you into art, safe inside my journal, some form of witchcraft to keep you as my own. I'll wear your clothes, breathe you in completely, and you'll start to wonder where you end and I begin.
I like the picture with the poem!