Honey, it’s easy to latch onto the golden boy
when all you’ve seen is pristine,
polished marble Davids, Diavals, Torvalds
all torturously out of reach,
perched: atop a peak. It’s easy to get caught,
trapped, all Amy Adams-eque Enchanted.
Enamoured with l’amour. Arms draped in furs,
peacock feathers for an angler.

Movies and music videos have you caught,
in the Tangled web; fishing for bouquets
from Frozen strangers. Electric, magnetic,
kinetic sand slips through digits. Quick,
as a twist: of toad tongue.

How badly you want his. To reel
you in, save you from stormy seas, seize
control. Bottle your nonexistent soul.
Chop your fin, lickity-split.
Put you out of your three-century ennui.

Dragonfly wings float on a film of blood.
Pretty princess can’t scream
murder. Say?
Well I did say: I’m no Naiad.
I’m a witch. I cauterize wounds
with truth serum.

From his angle, you are a speck.
Crumb of bread. Marked.
To be devoured.
Down to your porous marrow.

Dearie, tell me: Who is the fisher?
Who is the fish? Other than appearance,
what is
in a catch?