He prepared her heart:
Marinated in her perspective
Thawed her icy reservations
Covered her in an honest heat,
Rising, until she was complete right through.
She felt like a flavorful cynosure under the sprinkle of stars above,
She finally, unendingly wanted a taste of his love.
Sometimes I dance in a graveyard
while the moon reclines among the nitid throng above,
“I want to be loved”
“I will be loved”
“I want to be loved”…
Fascinated by life upon the social sand,
The little catfish fell in love with a human.
He built an image, swam inside it,
And channelled a voice through fingertips.
Transformed as such to walk the shore
He forgot himself for months or more
Until evasions unraveled his attempts at human connection.
There were no happy endings when he unveiled himself.
Spell broken, all she saw before her was a fish that took to bait,
Convulsing pitifully on deck.
She pinched it by the tail – aware now of its unsightly scales – and threw it back into the water.
You love classic literature and paintings,
Cultivated as the wine you sip.
Your friends’ mouths are overflowing,
cups with words,
And I am amateur art in the corner
Undervalued. Seemingly simplistic.