Spin.

She walks the way a spider spins it's web.
Each step spits her foot in front of her.
It lands, and grips down.
Her body leans back in rebellion against the momentum.
The muscles of her thigh contract and whip the rest of her into place, and she spits again.
I have to wonder, "Does she drink poison like the rest of them?
Does she know what she wants?
Does she sing loudly with the radio to a hairbrush wearing her curtains like a veil?
Does she cry when she's lonely?
Does she ever let herself get lonely?
Does she suck the nectar from her day like she's diseased, and laughter is the antidote?
Does she dress to look like that?
Or does she just look like that?
Does she want to be seen?
Does she want to say hello?
Does she want me to do that for her?"

Hi.

She walks the way a spider spins it's web.