Siren Whispers

Siren Song

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She was adorned

With butterflies

Appearing wherever his lips had touched

Their fluttering wings

A soft whisper upon her naked skin

Released from within

The fervent rush of their wings

An audible sound

Of elation

Whenever he was near



Photograph by Elisa Scascitelli 




I am the girl…

all of my life accepted by all

but embraced by few

as kindred.

A life lived on the fringes.

The quiet, acceptance, and understanding I needed

found within.

A solitary life amid others

where the voices heard were my own.

Distinct and indistinct.

The tenor of my present and past

guiding me forward.

The world that I created

gentling the sometimes-jagged edges

of this life

as I cast an unwavering gaze upon the future.

Refusing to flinch

at harsh light, cold wind, or seemingly impossible odds.

The tears that fall are my own

to see

to know

a burden I carry.

To be unknown

except to myself.

A melancholy prospect

as I hold that façade in place

by sheer willpower and determination.

Protecting my inner life

until the day that someone starts to dismantle it

with kind eyes that see me clearly

and with a touch that tells me

I am home.


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest; original provenance unknown.



Consider this


Consider this

Behind her shy smile and shining eyes…

…Is a world of private, intense thoughts

Of fantasies she dares not voice

Of pain and disappointment

She has tamped down

Until there is only a whisper

Of disquiet

…Is a world you can only guess at

Unless she lets you in

And if she lets you in

You just might find…

The thoughts she has allowed to bloom and flower

That she has nurtured with a faithful heart

And deep desire running through her veins

Thick as blood

It is a world of sensuous, decadent thoughts

Of complete surrender

In mind, body and soul

Thoughts that center completely

Upon you




Photograph taken from PerfectlyPersuasive




He wouldn’t lie

He loved the thought of her in church

The priest delivering a fire and brimstone sermon

As she thought of him

Replaying the words he had given her

His instructions

A blush stealing across her features

As her imagination ran wild

And her arousal began to build

Yes, he delighted in imagining her

Kneeling in church

Head bowed

Hands clasped together


And knickerless…


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2015

Photograph taken from Google Images


Eve in the garden


She is temptation

Eve in the Garden

Though innocent in thought

She incites less than godly thoughts

From him

She extends the apple

Not realizing its potency

Its impact upon his resolve

He’s unable to resist

For though she has spoken not a word

The voice in his head is whispering

Come with me

Into my wicked garden

I have more than apples

To share with you…


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2015

Photograph taken from WhiteNoten



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It has been seventeen weeks, five days and one hour since you told me. Since my world shifted on its axis. Since our lives were changed, permanently. 

But who’s counting?

I am asked by family and friends how I am dealing with it. If I have gotten used to it, accepted it. There is never just one answer. It is too complex for that. Indeed, it is too complex for words on most days. 

I tell them that I accepted it the moment that I was told.  And I did.  How could I not?  There was never ever a question that I wouldn’t.  But my heart grieved.  For what was lost.  For what would be irrevocably changed.  But most of all, for the burden that was carried, silently and alone, for too long.  My head accepted it.  I was rational and logical.  But the heart does not know nor does it understand those words.  And though there is unconditional love and acceptance, there is more than one layer to ‘getting used’ to something.  The head always wraps itself around a problem, a situation, a change, more readily than does a heart. 

Hearts have a long memory.

So my answer to that well meaning and concerned question was ‘yes, I’ve gotten used to it’ and ‘no, you never get used to it’.  And both answers are true.  Perhaps one day I can say that I am well and truly used to it, but I don’t know that that is possible.  There are too many memories, 15 years worth, to believe that there will never be a day that I am not jolted back in time or that my heart won’t feel a twinge at what will never be. 

But for now I just accept each day as a gift.  One more day that, if things had been different, I might not have had.  And I know how lucky I am.


*Written a year ago to the day. Still relevant as my new normal continues to take shape. As the tides rise and the sands shift, every day there is learning and acceptance and gratitude. But even on my best days there is still grief for what has been lost and an exhaustion with a climb that will never plateau.

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2016

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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Tangled first kisses


The moment of no return

It’s in those tangled first kisses

Tongues and breaths


A mindless fever taking over

Fingers tracing trajectories



And everywhere

Bodies pressed together

Melding into one

Desire at full throttle

As we get lost in each other

Mapping the aftermath

When the smoke has cleared

And breath and pulse

Have returned


Photograph taken from Pinterest