Smoothness can be found
In the strangest places,
And not just in the
Deathly traps of

Silk can lie in the edge
Of fingertips
That brush your hand
In a bid for attention

Or maybe on the skin
Of a sleeping back;
A sharp contrast
With the cotton on your skin.

It can be the feeling
Of a new tie
Fitting nicely into a suit
With its own elegance.

(or maybe that
Same tie
Discarded in a heap of expectations)

Silk can be a voice
Laced with experience
And loaded with venom.

(Maybe only predators
Use silk anyway)