Here I dangle
On a string
Like the fool
That I am.

An intricate snare
Composed of violet vines
Blood red passion fruits
Hanging ripe with my desires.

Here set I the trick
Rigged it up
Nailed it down

Joyfully plotting
Sinfully staged
Stalking my prey
Placing myself as the bait.

Lying in wait.

But
None
Does
He
Take.

Moseys right through the thicket,
Without a clue
Or a sound
That I am nearby.

Desperately be spelled
Fallen and bewitched,

I give chase,
Snap the clasp
Trip then grasp
The dubious handle

And fly, fifty feet off the ground
Surrounded by the butterflies
Alight in my gut.

Inhaling the scent of his cologne,
I am stuck,
In the rut I well laid
So carefully planned.

Tied up tight,
Suffocating,
He caught me with his eyes
Strung me up on his voice

So now here I sway
With the wind,
Twisting me apart.