Remember when we spun promises
on golden threads,
as if they were webs,
as if they could catch us
falling,
as if we ourselves
were promises spinning,
forms of filigree
laying silken lines
on subtle skins
like veins entwined;
limbs on lust
and fingers on flesh
to feverishly fondle.

Remember when your breath
was my everything,
as if you were oxygen
and I the earth, starving,
falling
through that fragile filigree
of lace
catching light,
catching crocheted kisses
that swept over us
and blotted out
the existence
of the rising storms
in the distance.

Remember when things got tricky
as the web wound its way
to sticky,
as it wove through our wants
and we turned
from spinning spiders,
spinning promises,
into fooled flies
trapped in the tight twists
that staggered and strangled,
the web now trapping us
instead of catching us
in the failing filigree
through which we fell,
no longer spinning,
no longer
falling.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly