The Scorpion and The Fish

Deceitful.

So lovely are your scales.

A scorpion said to a fish. 

How slender, how beautiful.

An arcadian eye gazed up at the speaker

blurred by the waves meeting the shore,

a Piscean tail flicked with glee. 

How I wish you were up here with me. 

Water.

What are you? She asked.

In love with you.

A hand? reached high above,

waving,

beckoning. 

Won’t you join me?

I cannot.

Just water.

A single petal fell upon the surface above,

a gift.

The scorpion stepped closer,

she was enamored. 

I can make it so,

we are meant to be,

trust me, 

I could never harm such beauty.

She swam,

lips breaking the surface.

Kiss me. 

Horrid horrid face.

Punctured scales.

Air.

Dirt.

No more water.

Dancing in fear,

weak with sanctioned poison,

she grew breathless.

We are meant to be,

a harsh hiss no longer covered by the lull of a lake. 

The hand that waved to her struck again,

her heart,

and the world was too hot,

and too cold,

and too dark,

as he broke through her beauty to feast. 

So lovely are your bones.