At once, imprisoned in that web
impression weaves to lure esteem,
you glanced and fell so readily
as Theseus appeared to you,

and so you offered mind and thread
(and inwardly, a hastened heart)
so he should span the Labyrinth,
survive obstructions, find returns.

And, for your help, he asked your hand,
then mazed you in a stranger land
and sailed off to new mythic realms,
fondness gone from any helms:

your cautionary yarn of bonds
knit hastily, too loose for knots,
left tenuous to slip detached,
reminding all "no strings attached"

may propose some sounder way
to act without awaiting pay,
adore where no condition ties,
and ravel where the binding lies.