Siren Whispers

Siren Song


Ruin me


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Ruin me

with thoughts

that seduce my inhibitions

peel the clothes from my body

and have me dancing to the sensuous song

you have sung

the movement within me



and wanton


Ruin me

with words

that adore me

and make love to me

as though they were

your hands

your lips

your tongue

your body


Ruin me




in the way that you know I yearn for


Ruin me

devastate me

ravage me

…and then begin again

from the beginning


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2016

Source: Little Calamity Jane



He forms and fashions

neither ode nor sonnet

to intelligence, beauty, grace

but rather algorithms

that map her within his mind.

He looks at her from every angle

judging lines and curves

and all the space in between

deciphering her code

a chemical blueprint that electrifies

and intoxicates him.

Her formula,

one he never tires of experimenting with.


©SirenSong1208 2017

Photograph taken from Tumblr





is not expensive presents

or lavish flowery words.

It’s not a bouquet of roses

or elaborate dates.

It is the little things

that resonate with her,

that make her swoon

just a bit more,

as she allows you to become closer. 

It is questions asked

that show you’ve been listening to her

and a gaze that misses nothing,

holding and heating her skin

with its intensity. 

It is the slight touch of fingers

when you’re looking elsewhere


but still connected.

It is sitting end to end on a couch


silent but aware of each other.

It is your hand on the small of her back

guiding her

not because she needs you to

but because you can’t not touch her.

Romance is time given

when time is short.

A five minute touch to remind her

that she is in your thoughts as you are in hers.

Romance is what’s real

not fantasy

and there is nothing more real

than seeing her

and letting her see you.


©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Black Swan Dive




Piercing me

My desire 

is as sharp as glass shards

piercing me

with longing.

With every jagged breath

I am cut anew.


©SirenSong1208 2017

Photograph taken from Tumblr


She is the ebb and flow of the sea


She is the ebb and flow of the sea.

Rushing in to invigorate

To arouse.

To make him feel alive

With the quickening of her surf

And again to recede

In gentleness.

Leaving behind reminders.

A constant in the background

Of his day.

Always just a touch away

But never intruding

Except when the swells build up

And passions rise

Threatening to overtake her.

It is then

That she shows him

Her true measure.


*Not new but simply, and currently, a truth.


Photograph taken from BlackSwanDive


A math equation


She is all curves and lines.

A math equation

he would love to painstakingly solve.

His fingers

constantly itch

to touch her.

To caress

her naked skin,

the satiny feel inducing him to do so.

Again and again.

To stroke

the softness of her lips

drawing a smile from her

in the process.

To cup

her bare breasts

the nipples hardening 

beneath his palms.

Until finally

he traces his finger

along the length

and curve

of her hips.

His calculation of her formula.




Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Midnight reveries


It is when moonlight arrives

and hours are reversed

that their midnight reveries merge

and take shape.

Sleep and dreams find her

tangled amid a sea of white

her mind reaching out to him

as her fingers touch his

through the ether

dawn lightening his eyes

just as hers close

in darkness.



Photograph taken from Pinterest

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Message in a bottle


Upon the great expanse of liquid divide

setting sail

solitary missives

rendered brave

in their endeavour.


In the first days

her verse spoke in tones


and yet,

not to him.

Cursive scrawl which read…

“He said compliments that come in a left & a right

a Shakespearean verse or 2

give light to my thoughts & desires

an earnest prising of you”


Hours became days.

The next fragile craft was set afloat.

“Sometimes my words drift along

waiting for your breath

your touch

the sweet ripple of your current flowing into mine”


Time moves as swiftly as the current

and as rapidly as her mind.

Her thoughts come quickly,


focused upon him.

Words take flight and arrange themselves thus…

“I speak to you

In one language


The one’s oft studied

Your hungry mind


This is the one

You will become fluent in”


She continues


and unchecked…

“Could you consider

That this is the thing

For you

The view aspired to

The touch hungered for

The mind that could sweetly battle with yours”


With each send off to the sea

she scans the horizon

watching the tide

waiting for her moment.

and then…

“Once more with feeling

setting her to music in his mind

finding her as unique as an accidental

he moves thru her melody

one note at a time”


The scroll carefully berthed within it’s harbour 

makes it’s undaunted attempt

upon choppy seas.

“She reaches out and touches only air

his warmth


in the whisper of her name

and the way that he called her



Every word becomes a way

to touch

to speak.

Every word she releases

becomes a message in a bottle.



Photograph taken from Tumblr








A year.


A year.

12 months.

365 days.

Anniversaries can be happy occasions, commemorating a special event, but they can also be a marker on a timeline.

A gauge of changes made.

Once there was a path that stretched out before you, endlessly it seemed, but now you can look back and see how far you’ve come.

Life changed a year ago, in ways that I could only imagine.

You never really understand how monumental change will be until you are in the midst of it.  There is fallout, great and small, and decisions that need to be made, continuously.  It’s a perpetual pivot of action and reaction. 

Things that should be part and parcel of growing up are now complicated and messy and filled with more questions than a test booklet.

No matter how much research and preparation you do, you feel off balance, always trying to strike a balance between assurance and uncertainty.

But you get there.  Or partly there.  You’re on the path.  Trying to take in stride each fork in the road, each dip and hole, or frankly, no path at all.  And you struggle.  Silently.  Because what would it do to scream or rage?  So you swallow it.  And it escapes in your dreams, it wakes you, it distracts you, it keeps your emotions bubbling just beneath the surface.

And you manage this along with other painful trials and tribulations.  Some you must keep secret.  Some you must weather on your own, silently.

And then the day comes.  A year.  Was it really a whole year?  And you look at them and you see the changes that the year has wrought.

You see that they are happier than they were.

You murmur a prayer of thanks.  And you find hope and promise in the coming year.

Because you know that there are more hurdles.

But you’ve got this.



Photograph taken by Chris Ford 





I remember days of such closeness,

when I could talk to you about anything.

You were my best friend.

The one I could trust above all others.

You always told it to me straight, 

never mincing words, 

but always being kind.

The message was always delivered 

with love.

You always knew, 

even without me saying, 

when something was wrong.

As I got older I kept my troubles to myself, 

telling you only after the fact, 

never wishing you to worry.

But now when I need your words most,

when I need the comfort that only a mother can bring,

you are drifting away from me,

your memory fading

your grasp on the here and now


and no matter how fast or hard I paddle

I cannot get any closer to you.

The fog is settling upon the water

and you are disappearing from view.


Photograph taken from Pinterest