Something in my Eye / Ed Harcourt

We swatted a fly and fed it to her, flipping it off the point of a skewer. She was clinging to her transparent web with a patient grip, riding out the slight bounces it took in the breeze. Our mouths dropped open as she slipped down the silk ladder to where the fly stuck, faster than a blink, then faster still back to the center with the fly gooey in her legs. And she spun it like a corn cob, bundling it. Then drinking, drinking, on tiptoes, light, ready.