Does a fish ever see
the glint of the hook before
wrapping its mouth around the worm?
Is it a gnawing in the belly?
A taste for a thrill?
Ignorance of mortality?

Do I have an excuse?
There was no worm on your tongue.

What about a child’s inquisitive fingers
reaching for a stove-top glowing red?
Weren’t they already warned?
We are a stubborn creature but
pain educates--
some lessons  need taught only once.

Except some of us are slow.
My fingers reach out to you again.
How much of me must melt away
before I respect what’s left?