bait

i did not mean to seduce her

with words. they were never spoken.

just on the page, each serif

a hook in the eye.

when i did speak, words

billowed out like clouds,

flowed over my lips

like smoke from a fog machine,

each phrase carefully posed

for maximum theatrical effect.

those words were a stain

on your skin, your body

a parchment on which i wrote

songs in your favourite key,

over and over and over,

fading like an echo or with wear.

now there is only the memory

of words, poorly captured.

they escaped the net

like butterflies, or fish

that swallow the bait

then spew it from their mouth.

now those words are ghosts,

ripples on the surface.

the wind carries them away.