ello, jello

she loves me in an allen wrench kind of way. we’re building red velvet couches in the theatre and she’s blitzing about like a spider. hair the color of blood, full Cheshire grin and dark, dark eyes. the shadows love her. she plays with them. does she only have two arms? for a second I thought I saw eight. she stands where I can’t see. crouches behind the light. fuzzy upholstered cushions land beside me and then suddenly she’s everywhere. i think of sliding my finger across her pale shoulder blades. tracing the edges of her tank top with my lips. grip the handle of the utility knife at her hip. just the tip… it’d just take a flick of the wrist… and twist. my job is screwing the front panels of the couches on. she’s dancing around me from one cardboard box to another while I sit back and tighten it all up. and twist. there’s a new allen wrench at every seat. sometimes in plain sight, sometimes hiding. she’s so sneaky. but she knows i love uncovering what she leaves behind. i couldn’t stop even if i tried. and i’ve tried. i can see now. she wasn’t just unpacking cushions. in the darkness she’s weaving a web of sheer plastic wrap and packing tape… and I’m locked in the center, draped over the red loveseat we just made