These Webs I Weave

I'm grinding away the grit captured there,
lying deceivingly dormant between ivory walls,
with threads of stubborn silk soaked in red;
Hands twisted uncomfortably in contortionist likeness.

The string wrangles with my fingers
dancing knots trapping them tightly
like finger flies, all caught up in the web.
And so I curse cleanliness, as string cuts flesh.