First love sonnet #2

My worm, my private monster who resides
between my eyelids and my itching eyes,

you are still here. My bloated spider, crouched
above my brain, your needle-slender legs
tap sonnets on my skull; a silk-spun pouch
wraps warm around a hundred thousand eggs.

My parasite, your viney body binds
my tortured tongue, caressing fingers wind
along my throat; your double hooking teeth
are nestled in my voice, and underneath

my crawling skin, between my hips, I feel
you still, at times more clamorously real
than any lover whose keen lips transform
to yours, whose trembling hands take on your form.