An epicure will watch with glee
a dying fish, and thrill to know
what living colours ebb and flow
from a heart that bursts in agony.
Like him, your appetite is art
where passion makes a daintier dish
each time, as in that rainbow fish,
it blazes from a broken heart.
So when, a golden lure, you break
the liquid surface of my eye,
the foolish fish of joy awake
then dart beneath to safety.
For there's one truth I've learned holds good
That the merely loved can never share:
Whoever drowns in water would
Not wish a fish to drown in air.