insect collector

your paisley iridescence didn't fill her eyes with wonder
the shining tearful colours didn't rend her heart asunder
the arabesque of limbs and carapace did not inspire
nor did your fleet fluttering shake her heart with thunder
your dance across her lawn was futile and forlorn
now you lie here skewered in her book
pinioned by her collectors hooks
and once you're ticked off and purveyed
you lie there with your beauty on display
breathing your last sighs regretting
that you ate up all those lies forgetting
to beware the punter, the consumer
they'll consume you an experience
happy that it looks so good to the imagined unseen audience
your limbs glued down your arms out splayed
the taker cannot taste your honey
and sees your words as so much money
your gold's invisible
to those that hold it
your soul is squandered once you've sold it.