she is pearled, a prize
i have lost my eyes, for what else is worth my sight?
the wind kisses a storm across her
nibbles leave her polished still –
maybe a bite would do
arm splayed & taut, the other rested
power of blood absent under chains
perseus, the magpie in this occurrence
erect at desire; at andromeda
he is near swallowed in a fog of green
(a swamp of landscape & seascape
each becoming the business of the other –
both without asking)
with lyre & cloak he is stuck in advance
the cache guarded by one with slobbered chops
crested as a beacon to things that susurrate in the night
coiled in assumed waters
tail peaked with faux-torpidity –
o, ketos, to devour such & live is impossible
emergence into death is a fate awaiting;
farewell.
Featured image held in the public domain via Wikimedia.
