Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Ichor of desire

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She looked levelly at him

‘this can be yours’, she said,

the plum kiss of her glistening lips a distraction from the words.

Still, he heard them and heeded their plea

the ichor of desire pumping hard and fast through his veins

ringing in his ears

a rushing river of carnal thoughts.

One look at her

and he could clearly see

that the shape of his destruction

would be found

in the curve of her sensuality.

:

©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Caution

Caution is her mantra.

There is nothing quite like losing yourself

in feeling

in desire

in love,

but the path she’s on requires a spine of steel

and an open heart.

It also requires bravery 

in putting herself first.

Walls are created

 brick by brick

and they must come down in the same fashion.

Well, hers must in any case.

A dismantling that is slow,

brick by brick.

Each one replaced

with something she was missing.

Trust

Intimacy

Respect

There will be no rapid pull down of the wall,

à la Berlin,

but rather a slow chipping away at the defenses she erected

to protect her tender heart.

:

©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph by SirenSong1208


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Boundless

I taste the unknown

in your kiss.

It conveys me to places

I can only imagine,

places where I am pliant

underneath your fingertips.

Your touch

hard

soft

unrelenting with passion.

It fuels my hunger 

and my curiosity

to know more

to do more

to be more.

With you,

within this,

a boundless need

has been unleashed.

:

©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved

Photograph taken by Jose Miguel

Model: Lauren Nicholas


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Combat mode

“Realizing that with two teenagers under my roof I am in perpetual combat mode as they make repeated attempts at my fortifications.”

My opening (written) salvo this morning on Twitter. Now, this is not news, not to anyone who has ever parented. Combat mode changes with every year, with every milestone said child or children reach. When we first bring them home the struggles are sleep and safety. We watch with gratitude and awe as they reach each milestone. But, with every one reached, we are that much closer to the ‘I’ word. You know what I mean. Independence. And what does that mean? It means hell on earth folks. Okay, I’m being a tad dramatic here but I think I can safely say (imagining many of you nodding your heads in agreement) that when that burning need for independence hits, your struggles truly begin. The endless questions of why, the pushback on rules, the constant and repeated attacks on your fortifications. Add to that the divide and conquer maneuver that most children instinctively know how to employ and it becomes and ‘us against them’ tactic.

Teenagers are a special type of demon, in my opinion. Now, don’t get me wrong…I love my devils, er my children, but I can honestly say that there are days I wish to employ my invisibility cloak. Because they simply are not pleasant to be around. Thank goodness there are plenty of days that are joyfulf and that kind of balances it enough that I don’t run screaming into the night.  

But back to the hell of teenagehood (yes, I realize that is not a real word but I am employing creative license). In addition to being in full throttle, achieve-my-independence mode, they are clearly beset by raging hormones that make them moody and hostile, nicely finished off by the world-revolves-around-me thinking to make most days a lovely stroll through a mine field.

I always found it amusing that childhood is categorized with ‘terrible two’s’, etc. when in reality every age could be classified that way. Tongue in cheek of course. There isn’t anything really ‘terrible’ about any of them. It is just a series of adjustments that you make with each assault on your fortifications, and it starts early.  (Clearly you have to put aside your delicate sensibilities and know that IT’S NOT PERSONAL…that’s a difficult one to swallow because some days it sure feels personal). Children do not come with a handbook, nor are parents given hazard pay (personally I think that’s a travesty and a sliding scale should be employed…increasing as they get older).

Parenting is not for the faint-hearted.” I am sure that is someone’s quote though I have no idea who. Undoubtedly another parent who has been in the trenches, and has survived the napalm of a surly teenager in the morning. 

Like many other parents who lament their children’s behavior, I love mine without limit or expectation. But, being a writer, I will always fully employ what I know and right now I know the glory and the (oft times) horror (Say it with me…’the horror, the horror’) of the teenage personality. But my love is unconditional, and they know that. I am their safe zone. 

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2018

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced


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Sunday confessions, toi

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I was the sweetest,

the most innocent bad girl

he ever created.

Especially on Sunday.

.

Sinful Sunday.

Soft white skin

and pure white ribbon.

A sensuous tether

to wicked thoughts

and desires

pulled tight by him.

Making me wet and wild.

.

A Sunday prayer.

A single wish

whispered from my lips

that was

purity and sin

interwoven.

.

I am

A body trembling with sinful wants

and a soul aching with innocent need.

.

I sit upon the church pew

modest in dress and demeanour

distracted

by the secrets and sins

that dance within every line

of the poetry I am composing

in my head.

.

You are deeper than skin

greater than sin

absolution is mine

as you touch all the parts of me

that ache for you.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Cover me with your sin

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Cover me with your sin

Fingers threaded through with mine

Held aloft

Pressed upon soft white sheets

Stark against flesh flushed pink

With arousal

With exertion

.

Cover me with your sin

As you crowd me with your intentions

To spoil

To sate

To initiate

Claiming every dark instinct as your own

As you pin me to the page

Writing your darkest prose

Seeing my response

Under your fingertips

A whorl of darkly inked curves and lines

Entwining with your own

:

©SirenSong1208

Photograph taken from Tumblr


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Only one voice

‘This is not a funeral,’ she said,

‘though I’m drowning in carnations.’

There are no condolence cards

or whiskey toasts

to memory,

only the sad nod of head

as a story becomes too familiar to all

and an end that happened long ago

becomes the final chapter

in a story that was told

with only one voice.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2018

Photograph taken from Pinterest, unsourced