Sunny Supper Spiders

scrimshaw

a deep dive on this expedition to the sun, to the thick hot center of life and love you found a heart beating, a heart overflowing, a heart bursting into ribbons, streamers for supper and slick viscera torn from flesh to nourish and satisfy. that large pot over that hot fire. that large wooden spoon, hanging on the wall, mysteriously. empty ceilings, vaulted, redwood, musty. one spider dropped down, landing on your hat and we caught it and i'm not sure where it ended up. i wanted to take it, across the street, and leave it in a tree but possibly you just flushed it, or smashed it in a piece of toilet paper. i'm curious what color its insides are. are they yellow? are they thick? can we paint with them a picture of a meadow of flowers or a sunny apron in a dated kitchen, also musty, also dark and cold in the winter. i want a fire to curl up by, i want cold to protect against, but you give me this warm sunny perfection

and i'm confused.