Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Awakening

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I cannot cage these thoughts

or douse these desires.

Every encounter pushes me further over the edge,

to fall

to fly

into this fire

with you.

Cool sheets and exhausted sleep

coalesce into an awakening.

Flames licking every inch of my bare frame.

Sheets tangled around curves

as my hands smooth over warm skin

and my fingers find every ache

with your name.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest

 


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The storm

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The storm is upon me.

I watch the trees swaying in the August wind,

thunder cracking like a mighty fist

upon a table.

Lightning flashing in the distance, 

illuminating the evening.

Twilight settling the sky

from day to night.

I watch from my garden door

as the rain comes in swiftly.

The droplets littering the glass,

like a thousand miniature eyes,

watching me

as I watch the storm,

enraptured.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2015

Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Pursuing the shadows

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The silence of the night

Blankets my thoughts

Allowing them to fade from the light

Pursuing the shadows

The nyctophile within

Celebrating the darkness

That sits not solely

With sky, moon, and stars

But which seeps from my soul

Out upon my paper

The ink drying

In vivid strokes

Identifying my words

As absolute

In their intent

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Obsidian

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Desire,

as sharp and as dark

as midnight moonstone

gleaming wickedly

in the night.

It is obsidian delights

seductive to the senses,

drawing me in

past the point

of no return.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest


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Scintilla

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A quiet whisper

Given gravitous

As a scintilla of connection

Was accorded voice

Days became threaded

With intensity

The warp and weft of each

Given strength

Through honesty and depth

As knowledge and feeling

Became the foundation

For something real

And magical

In the lit darkness

We’ve created

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest

 


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Blood and memories

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Slipped under the skin

It was a silent passenger

Within our days

A need

Coursing through our veins

Pulsing with intent

It was moments

Heady with promise

Anticipation so thick

We could cut it with a knife

Giddy with desire

We fell over each other

In our eagerness

To touch

And touch again

A ravenous hunger

Never appeased

It was all of this and more

But now

In the shadow of Autumn

It is nothing

Nothing

But blood and memories

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph by Simon Filip


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Vellichor

I haunt them like a ghost,

drawn to the vellichor

found within four walls.

A dusty, low lit date

with history.

Each shelf holding the means

to entrance me.

I sidle down cramped aisles

fingering spines

breathing in the musty smell

of old books

and time,

bad lighting adding to the ambiance

and my mood.

Wondering at the stories,

the ones not found within the pages.

Where did they come from?

How did they get there?

Were they read again and again?

Were they well-loved?

Finding an inscription,

a scrawl of cursive ink,

I wonder who they were,

what they were like.

They are faceless,

these erstwhile owners,

but their story is rich

within the depths

of my imagination.

:

©SirenSong1208 ~ 2017

Photograph taken from Pinterest

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