Monsters Under The Bed

Green eyed monsters seem to leap from your eyes every time you look at her. 
What do you want? Her sunset? Her miracle? Her song? 
No. You want what she's got. 
But the moment you board that ship you want to jump over board. 

Hands linger on flesh, caress, barley touch.
Twelve summers, to your thirty one. 
The kicks fly, they arc, but come down. 
Hands swoop, like birds spotting prey. 

Grey, white, a future flashes in front of her eyes. 
A rainbow flows from your very being. 

A lone fly dangles from a web, until the spider comes.