I am a fish. A rather ordinary fish. You are a lure. A beautiful, expensive lure. Hand tied by an expert. Stored in your own clear plastic hard top case. You enter the water with ease. A sense of purpose. Feathers spread wide, you begin to dance. A dance of promises. Twisting, turning, a pirouette in the prism of sunshine. I am hypnotized by the act itself. You are uninhibited, free, focusing solely on this rather ordinary fish. I am uncomfortable with this undivided attention. This fiery focus you have for me. I attempt to swim away. Darting here and there. You follow, dancing and bowing. Sweeping past me, yet close enough for me to feel a wisp of your beauty brush me. I am overtaken with the ache of longing. I turn quickly and I bite. Hard.
Instantly, your softness becomes a spear piercing my flesh. Extending to my soul. Your beauty was simply a costume. Your dance a wicked spell. I am pulled, jerked, tossed through what remains of my life. I fight furiously. Eyes bulging. Body seizing. I am unable to free myself. I am unable to breath. I have entered a world that I know nothing of. Mouth pulsing open, close, open, close. You are still with me. In the sunshine, wind floating through your feathers. I can finally see that viscous hook you use. It has impaled all that is me. I relinquish all that I am. I resign myself. I am lost. You dance. Celebrating your exceptional skill at catching rather ordinary fish, like me.