I have heard mistaken minds
say if you offer her your hand,
Blue in kind will bring no harm.
I have come to tell you this is false.
Listen closely now, my friend:
Blue is sharper, longer, leaner,
than Red on Red’s best day.
She will take your albatross
and slit it open in the night.
Blue is dressed to a fine point:
silk sleeves and noble crest,
predator-sleek with azure-spine.
She dares and she is tempting, I admit,
but you have not known Blue as I.
Blue can cut.
She can sting.
She can weave and dance and cut again,
and when she has finished
she is deathly still.
Blue feels no remorse;
she won’t reflect as you or I.
She drops and flows
and darts and thrusts
and when you go to grasp her
she has slipped and sliced your palm.
Take heed, my anxious friend,
you are her prey of choice.
She hides within the sun.
You take her in, you think you’ve won,
but venomous and silent
she dissolves inside your depths,
and if are not careful,
she will climb your throat and conquer.