I knew her name and little else.
Was entranced by her anyway.
Something about her was Venus flytrap,
while I was just hungry fly.
But still I flew, drawn
by the heat of her flame
and the chill of her skin.
Fanciful as a fae, I fancied
her drawn into my own web,
myself clever spider,
and each of us would consume the other,
an Ouroboros in two parts.
Yet I was a boy in India, distant and afraid,
striving to matter as a drop in the sea,
while she bloomed mountain columbine.
She sailed past, unscathed
while my iceberg silently lurked.