It is loneliness that makes me tie little bows of silk to leaf, branch, blade and blossom. I build my web for the company, not the blood. O I love the blood, of course: a vintage in which you taste a year your ancestors knew. But it isn't blood
The Spider
The Spider
The Spider
It is loneliness that makes me tie little bows of silk to leaf, branch, blade and blossom. I build my web for the company, not the blood. O I love the blood, of course: a vintage in which you taste a year your ancestors knew. But it isn't blood