Pygmalion saw the wickedness of particular women
Transform, as by some occult connection,
Every woman's uterus to a spider.
Her face, voice, gestures, hair became its web.
Her perfume was a floating horror. Her glance
Left a spider-bite. He couldn't control it.
So he lived
In the solitary confinement
Of a phobia,
shunning living women, wifeless.
Yet he still dreamed of woman.