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.