Out Of Her Depth

She thought she knew him, and his shoal-shallow soul;
knew that his mind was see-through, his cranium made of limpid glass
that was openly transparent, like a spotless fishbowl
so pellucid that light and sight could easily pass
to illuminate his simple, small world
wherein he swam and swirled.
She fancied that his clear, clean, calm waters inside
housed a forgetful goldfish who viewed
the larger world from within a smaller one, gawping bubbles and wall-eyed
as she fed him little snippets of gossip for his fishfood;
thinking that there was little more need
of food for someone of his meager breed.
Yet, all the while she was unsuspecting of his angler deceit
and the dark depths spreading all around her and plunging down,
his saber-teeth gnashing just below her complacent feet
as she treaded penumbral waters, following his tendril crown,
lured where there lurked a toothy undertow
whose darkness eventually illuminated what she did, and did not, know.

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